These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal
by mssunnymuffins
Summary: Prussia can see his cuts heeling slowly, his scars that won't disappear, and he knows he's soon to fade away, just like Vati Germania. It all gets bad when his friends and family start to find out. - Rated T for safety, has ending where Prussia fades and one where he doesn't, includes theory that Romano fades away too. BTT, Germany, Austria, Hungry, Lietchtenstein, and more!
1. Little One, Don't Let Go

**Some of the author's note is important, it will be in bold.** The rest is an optional read because I got ramble-y.

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 **This story will feature song lyrics - first one in reviews to identify the song gets brownie points!** This song is so perfect for hetalia - ESPECIALLY fading or nations trying to gain independence. So all you USUK, RoPan, Germancest, Itacest, Rochu, HRE x Chibitalia, Ancient Rome, and Germania fans have something to be sad about. This whole story will be based on that song. I'll reveal it at the end if no one gets it (or thinks to just google the lyrics you little cheats).

 **This story also makes me think of My Immortal by Evanescence** as if it were a duet of Germany and Prussia like...

Prussia: These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real, there's just too much that time cannot erase. When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears. When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears.  
Germany: And I held your hand through all of these years.  
Prussia: But you still have all of me. *hands Germany his cross necklace. Fades away. Many years later Germany looks back at cross.*  
Germany: I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone, but thought you're still with me *clenches cross*, I've been alone all along!"

I am feeling very...mmm...iffy about starting a second story while writing the other one. I am not abandoning it, it will be finished! I love Japan too much to ditch a story with him in it. I just don't know if I can handle two stories at once, however my hyperactive little mind is always bouncing about hetalia ideas in my head. It's ridiculous. So I HAD to tackle a story I've been thinking about for quite a hot second - Prussia (and also, Romano and his possible fading away...but we'll get to that). I love Prussia's fem design, but for sake of you guys' preference, I will keep him male. I am going into this story with little a plan, whereas Giant Dragon has all its chapters mapped out, so we'll see if that helps or hinders me. Update: It hindered for sure. This is actually a re-write and I now have a plan so lol.

Fun fact: One thing I love about anime is the way the hands are drawn. There's usually such a focus on the elegance. In Hetalia manga, Hima's chubby blobs are odd but acceptable hands. In the anime, however, their hands always looked so...displeasing to me. I like the new design better and fan art USUALLY give some pretty graceful hands. I just looked up a picture of Prussia and saw those horrific hands, so, that's why I decided to add this pointless ramble.

 **This story will have two endings, one in which Prussia does disappear and another where he doesn't.** So it won't blast your feels TOO badly...probably.

 **CONTEXT OF THIS SECTION:** Prussia has not faded yet, he still isn't disbanded or dissolved or like whatever (his "country" [or rather section of Germany] is still a thing), **he has noticed his non-healing wounds**

 **NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE** \- I'm too stupid for that y'all.

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 _ **"Little one, don't let go." -Secret Song Writer (SSW)**_

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"So it'll just be for the day, you hear me?" Switzerland adjusted the strap of the riffle slung onto his back, with a scowl in his eye and a hand on his little sister's back. The girl glanced up and smiled at the man in the doorway across from them and adjusted her own strap out of mimicry. This, however, was the strap of a burlap bag containing some of her night clothes, a brush, and a toothbrush.

"Yes, I understand. Watch your sister for one day while you're at a meeting," the man laughed, "The awesome me can handle it!"

"Don't do anything weird, or stupid, and if I get back and she's hurt I'll-"

"I know, I know, you'll shoot me until I'm dead."

" _KILL YOU_ until you're dead. Shooting you won't work, you are sort of a country after all." Upon hearing this Prussia casually tugged his sleeve down a bit more, hoping to cover the still-healing scar on his hand. He was sort of still something, but certainly not a country. A country would have already repaired a mere wound on it's skin due to a feeling now unfamiliar to him - people of your lands thinking about you. Prussia had a feeling shooting him once would do the trick, but upon feeling that feeling he shook his head lightly and stepped to the side, sweeping his arm out and smiling.

"Got it. Come on in Liech," he nearly stopped at just the pet name but another adjustment of the strap warned him against it. "...enstien! I just made some mashed potatoes and wurst." The two waltzed into Prussia's grandiose mansion and the young girl oohed and ahhed at his shining, expensive tastes. They walked past a dining hall big enough for a gala and into a more cozy seating space with only six chairs. Across from one another were two plates of steaming food, and the young girl sat down to dig into hers.

"Would you mind if we had the same thing for dinner? It's very good Prussia." The chef beamed at this compliment.

"I suppose the awesome me could whip up some more!" A quirky laughter of "kese"s flowed out of his mouth as a small, yellow bird found a nice place on his head to settle itself. The two ate in silence for a while, offering each other small smiles and glances until one of the two finally thought of something to say.

"I haven't seen you in a hot second Liech."

"I enjoy spending time with big bruder but he doesn't like other people very much," Liechtenstein commented in her quiet, sweet voice. "I haven't seen much of anyone lately."

"I see."

"I would like to make more friends though." The girl flipped her golden hair out of her face and took up one of the last scoops of potatoes on her plate. "I-"

Suddenly the phone rang.

"I'll get it," the red eyed man offered, standing from his seat throwing a napkin on his plate. "Could you handle the dishes?". Liechtenstein nodded and began to do just that, stacking both plates atop each other as Prussia fled the room. She stacked their cups and placed forks and knives inside them, all before scooping this up and walking out.

Suddenly, the girl realized she had no clue how to get to the kitchen from there.

Looking back and forth she decided to go left, evidently the wrong way, or so she realized when the last door on the hallway was not leading into a kitchen but into a sort of study. She found herself taken aback by it as she leaned, using all her body weight, to hold open one of the huge, iron doors. The room was lined with rows upon rows of shelves, all of which were lined from end to end with blue books. Books in the far back of the room held a thin layer of dust. She noticed a small desk near these books with nothing on it but a reading light and several black pens. _How on earth has he found only blue bo- oh wait, that one's red._ Politeness suddenly lost on the girl, she picked up the only red book in the entire collection and studied it. Front and back were a bright crimson with no label, title, author, or information. It was identical in size and thickness to all the other books - just colored differently. Upon peeling back the cover, the girl found a picture of the adorable chic that'd taken refuge on her host's head earlier that night. She flipped another page, unable to resist now, and found it scrawled with words in beautiful cursive.

"A journal?!" she said aloud before hearing footsteps. The journal was quickly thrown into the girl's over-the-shoulder bag and she stumbled out of the room as quickly as possible. She couldn't be caught disturbing the peace.

"What are you doing here?" Prussia asked, turning the corner with his red eyes glowing with amusement.

"I couldn't find the kitchen."

"Well that's because it's that way." He threw a thumb over his shoulder, grin widening.

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It was 12:02AM. Prussia had already fallen asleep on the couch, and yet Liechtenstein was awake and energetic past her usual bedtime of nine. She tiptoed to her room, excited that fate had given her this opportunity, and peeled open her bag. Something told her the red book now in her hands was not meant to be read by her eyes, but that something shriveled up and died in the mischief that even well behaved children like her self-practiced. Her nimble hands flipped yet again past Gilbird and a smile crept on her face as she saw the block of text before her. This time however, her eyes were given the time and privacy to focus on it, see letters, form words, and mend to life Prussia's thoughts and feelings. Green orbs flickered side to side as the teen soaked in the contents of the page. Immediately, without thinking, she flipped to the next page and made her way through the blocks on that. The next page, the next one, on and on until she flipped to the first blank page in the book. It was as far as Prussia had gotten in his red diary. The girl stared at the page for a moment, before shutting the book. Carefully, her hands set it on the nightstand as if it had become an ancient artifact.

When she went to flip off the lamp light, she noticed her body trembling.

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That morning Lichtenstein seemed to get ready as slowly as humanly possible. She brushed her hair at a record s dull pace, and hid in the bathroom for two hours insisting she was still in the nude. Finally, feeling she had no other choice, the child drifted down the stairs and to the table for breakfast. Eggs and toast. Her elder brother was there too, as he had been invited to a meal before leaving with her.

"Thank you, Prussia." She felt her through tighten and coughed to clear it. The three ate in silence again, but this time, Liet dared not look up. She couldn't smile over the table, make faces, carry on conversation, or keep her hands from shaking, so Prussia noticed. Twenty minutes of painful silence later, she had forced down the meal and stood to leave.

"Liechtenstein, you haven't said a word all morning. Are you alright?" It was her brother's familiar voice, and his hand on her arm. Liet could feel his warmth and shuddered under it. With a nod, her feet led her out of the room and out of their gaze. The pitter patter of her footsteps ricocheted off the hall walls as she headed down it, staring at the floor. The guest room's door squeaked, and it wasn't until the light of the hall cast a shadow in the room that the child noticed a figure behind her. She whipped around and froze.

"You know," the albino began, "one of the books from my study has gone up missing. The one day I forget to lock it up..." He grinned, weakly. The younger of the two felt her heart stop and her eyes widen before dared to glance over her shoulder at the book. Words she had read the previous night seemed to dance out of it and taunt her. _Will this be my last journal? Is it bad that I'm scared? I wonder if I will get to see Vati again._ She tried to breathe but her voice had left her lungs. _Scar won't heal. It stings. It burns. I'm not ready._ The room began to spin as she stumbled over to the dresser. _Being forgotten. Lonely. This is totally Unawesome._ The rose colored volume now in her hand, she spun around to face the man. _Today, I cried. I cried a bunch. No one noticed me._ Her heartbeat was all she could hear as she spoke.

"I'm s-sorry," her throat tightened painfully, forcing water to her eyes that threatened to fall as struggled, stretching out the book. "I shouldn't have t-t..." she felt a wetness on her face. ...taken..." Before that sentence could ever end, the girl broke down into a loud, messy fit of tears. They slid down her cheeks and nose, falling to her chin, her dress, the floor, into her mouth as she opened it to sob. Her throat expelled all of its pain in loud wails, and her fragile body lapsed into tremors and shaking. The taller nation bent down on one knee to her level, tore the book from the girl and enveloped her in his arms. She grabbed back, clenching onto his shirt's fabric for dear life. She gasped hard before sobbing again and melting into him.

 _"I'm sorry!"_ she wanted to say. _"Don't be scared. Don't be sad. Prussia, it will be okay!"_ Her body felt as though it were erupting into flames as she shuddered and sniveled. A sound made its way out of her mouth - the start of a word - but the albino only held on tighter and shushed her, fingering through her golden locks.

"It's okay Liet. I'm not going anywhere just yet." He felt tears prick at his own eyes but dared not let them fall amidst the girl's misery.

Slowly, her weeping settled to whimpering. Her body gained control, bidding itself not to shiver. _What an embarrassment,_ she thought, _bursting into tears like that as thought Prussia isn't the one right now who should be_...she quieted her mind, and wiped her face with her hands and dress. After a silence, and a moment of safety, the small girl pulled away and looked into those red eyes - as bright as the book which held its beholder's true devastation.

 _"I don't know you at all,"_ her eyes said silently as he gazed back. _"It's a shame, Prussia. You're part of my family in a way. I want to...to REALLY know you."_ Their gaze unlocked. _"Before it's to late."_ The girl wanted to speak, but her attempt was interrupted by a click. She broke her trance to snap up to the familiar sound's source - the rifle. Her eyes widened as she realized what her reddened, puffy cheeks must obviously be revealing to Switzerland.

"What did you do to her?!" her brother spat out in a fury of rage. The barrel took aim.

"I FELL!"

The screech shocked both the men in the room, who stopped to look at her. "I fell, it hurt, and Prussia helped me." Before he got a chance to question it, Liechtenstein walked around to her brother and took his hand. "Let's go home." Switzerland looked from his sister, to Prussia, to his sister, to a book on the floor, and back to his sister.

"Fine. Get your bag. Let's go." She did just that, and glanced back at Prussia, who was still kneeling down, dumbfounded, one last time. Her expression said it all.

 _I don't think a gunshot will heal up at all, better yet faster than that slash on your hand._

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And that's it! I hope this was good. I don't know if I'm any good at writing emotional scenes...and I'm kinda gonna need it for this story. You guys let me know how I'm doing so I can improve. **I will NOT write the next chapter no matter what unless I get 3 reviews** (or 2 that are just really passionate). High maintenance, I know, but, I have another story to worry about. I really hate to be that person demanding reviews, but I have no obligation to this story and I don't see the point of writing it if no one wants to read it. Also, I feel like I should just point this out, **this story will go through all of Prussia's relationships with people** including Liechtenstein, Hungary, Austria, the Italians, Japan(?), Bad Touch Trio, and of course, Germany. **It's not just Liechtenstein.**


	2. Stop Every Clock, The Stars Are In Shock

I had written the first chapter at about 8pm last night and by 1am I WANTED to write the next one, but I also want to wait for my reviews. Checked in the morning and there were all three! **You guys are great** and I like died laughing when I read yours " **Aph Native America** ". I'm glad y'all like it and that my writing apparently doesn't suck booty like I think it does. Thank you! Okay so here's the next chapter as promised. I have to go to work in 3 hours (yes, I have a job. Make that paper). Let's see if I can finish by then.

Not sure how I feel about the song lyric here. The last one worked cause Liechtenstein is a 'little one'. This one feels odd to be because like...while they may be in shock, what makes these two stars? But uh, I'll leave that up to reader interpretation because I think all the other lyrics I've planned to use work quite perfectly.

Just so you know, each chapter in this story will probably have some kind of **time jump** from the last. I don't really know...how big of a jump...but a jump never the less. So, this isn't like the next day or something, just so you know. Lol that was redundant.

 **QUESTION: Should I include Japan, Canada and England's reactions here as well?** I know that they all have good relationships with Prussia, Japan being quite close to him (he seems to like loud people. Loud brothers of China and Korea, then he's friends with Iggy, America, Prussia, Greece and Turkey at the same time, Germany, Italy, ect. None of his friends have any chill), Canada and him being shipped together and Prussia liking pancakes, and England is kind of his drinking buddy so I imagine they've had some whacky adventures. I just...don't know if they're really ALL THAT relevant. Let me know how you feel.

Random: You know Beyonce's Lemonade album? I still, STILL haven't heard or seen it. Anyway, Pandora just played Sorry from the album. I really like it, especially the parts where she's like "I aint sorrahy, sorrahy" in the background quietly...so like the chorus. I wish I could hear the whole thing but I'm poor!

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 ** _"Stop every clock, the stars are in shock." -SSW_**

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"I'm really glad about it actually," the little blond girl commented skipping, her purple ribbon bouncing with her. Her taller, female companion tried to mask her curiosity.

"Ever since big bruder has been letting me talk to more people, I've made lots of new friends!" She took a taste from the ice cream cone in her hand. "I like spending time with Switzerland, but whenever he's busy I get excited to go out on my own."

"What kinds of new friends have you made?"

"Well, there's you, your friend Austria, I talk to Germany a bit now too but he's quiet, Japan seems to like me, and, of course, Prussia."

"Of course?"

"I think I probably spend the most time with Prussia," the girl said with a giddy joy on her face. The woman she was walking with, however, did not share in the excitement. She felt her hand tense around the handle of a frying pan that had randomly spawned. Liechtenstein was still small and able to be manipulated. If she was spending the bulk of her time with Prussia, she must've run into that pervert France by now! Her mind raced with all the sick things they probably tricked her into doing or saying. Having her call them "big bruder", or making her touch her elbows in front of her chest and bend over. Hungary shuddered thinking of the time she fell for that one.

"Why is your brother letting you go out now anyways? He used to be so protective." Hungary assumed it was her snappy tone that made the girl frown and avert her gaze. Her skip slowed to a casual walk as her mind tried to form an idea. What she wanted to say was simply that she had confided in her brother about Prussia fading away. He could tell something was wrong with her and she felt backed into a corner, with no option but to tell him. Switzerland was too much like himself to speak to Prussia about this directly, but, he did agree to let his sister grow closer to him while she still could.

But she wasn't about to blast Prussia's secret that easily.

"He just thinks it would be good for me," she said regaining a small smile. Not convinced, Hungary opened her mouth to further protest, but was thwarted by Austria walking up behind the two. The group stopped, formed a semi-circle, and chatted among themselves. They resumed walking only to eat their ice cream and enjoy the leaves falling in the park. The mix of reds, oranges, and yellows created a beautiful scene that was often accompanied by Austria's beautiful music, making autumn one of Hungary's favorite times of year. The pleasantries of their conversations with the younger, previously sheltered nation almost made her forget her doubts.

Almost.

But the doubts absolutely prevailed in leading her to take the girl home as soon as she got the chance, bidding her adieu, and dragging Austria up to the Prussian's doorstep. It was her doubt that forced her to ring the bell, her disbelief that made her shove her way into his house, and her unwillingness to cooperate that led to the three sitting in Prussia's living room. He resided in an armchair, the other two across from him on a love-seat. The only thing that protected the albino from their collective rage was a coffee table placed between them.

"What can I-"

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!"

"Hungary, what are you talking about?" The bird on his shoulder let out a 'piyo' and the duo cocked their heads to the side in what was perceived as a faked confusion.

"LIECHTENSTEIN!" Hungary spat out, being held back to her seat only by Austria's hand. The hand tightened on her knee, forcing her back into her lady-like mannerisms. "She's around you all the time now. I don't understand why. From what I've collected, all you are is trouble." Austria, who had been previously confused as to why this visit was even necessary now nodded in consideration. The two had been around one another quite a bit. At times he thought they seemed glued at the hip. The younger nation would laugh at every one of the albino's stupid jokes, he would blow money buying her dresses, ribbons, and toys, and more often than not if her brother went off to a meeting or work of any kind, Prussia's house was the next best place to look for the girl. She even had her own bed sheets there if Austria was remembering correctly.

"She chills around here now. What's wrong with that? I mean, she could only resist the awesome me for so long." Prussia forced a toothy grin and in encouragement, his bird let out another 'piyo'.

"Well, what do you think of her?" Hungary asked, bidding her skillet to spawn and crossing her arms over her chest.

"She's uhm, she's nice and she likes me and she's cute, so it's cool." Unfortunately for Prussia, 'cute' was the wrong answer. Cute was just the perverted trash she expected to come out of his mouth.

"Cute?" she heard the disturbing sound of her teeth grinding.

"Yea. Don't you think so? France finds her plenty cute too." His smile never wavered, but even Austria knew it should have. The last person France had openly dubbed cute that he could remember was Italy, and the man had been slapped into a wall for coming too close to him. More than once.

"Well," Austria threw in, trying desperately to mediate and tightening his grip on Hungary's knee. "What kinds of things do you two do here?" Prussia laughed, another wrong answer, and replied with his idiotic grin still plastered on his face.

"Why do you two care? Don't tell me you're jealous of her. There's enough of the awesome me to go around!" Austria sighed. A hand on her knee was not going to be enough to keep the feisty girl in check after that. Before the sigh was even fully out of his mouth, she had lunged across the table, pan at the ready. She grabbed Prussia by the collar and felt all of her veins pop to the surface of her skin as her rage bubbled.

"I AM NOT HERE TO PLAY _GAMES_ PRUSSIA! WHY IS SHE ALWAYS HERE?"

"We talk! Why are you so mad at that?" Prussia cried out. He wasn't looking her in the eyes, but instead was eyeing the iron weapon being held over her head. He thought to the last wound he had gotten - a bit from Blackie on his thigh. It had taken a week to heal completely, but it was easy to hide. A gash in his face and broken jaw would not be as effortless to mask. That is, assuming he'd live.

"WHAT KIND OF PERVERTED DISGUSTING THINGS ARE YOU DOING TO THE POOR GIRL?!" A shadow cast over her face as insanity filled her eyes. Her arm recoiled, ready to strike-

"OKAY!" The voice came out stifled and forced, as if squeezed out. The beholder of said voice had his brows raised and couldn't break his focus on the skillet. The horror in his eyes spoke volumes of their own, it was a fear Hungary had never seen in him. He had certainly been scared of being hit before but this was...was...pure mortification. "I'll tell you why she's around so much more just please calm down."

Please. It was the right answer. A word Prussia used so rarely that Hungary had never even heard it come from his mouth, better yet directed at her. She lowered her pan, and lowered herself into her seat, wide-eyed.

"Speak then." The girl demanded, not losing herself completely. Prussia's red eyes found a new home staring at the floor as he rubbed his nose. "I said SPEAK!"

"She's trying to get to know me better."

"Why?" This time it was Austria who spoke, out of true curiosity. Prussia fidgeted in his seat, peeling away at his nails and studying the floor as if a novel had been written on it. Just as the duo before him was growing impatient for an answer, he figured the best way to go about it was to just, say it.

"I'm going to fade away soon, I think." What a riveting novel it was etched into his carpet, but after the longest few seconds of painful silence his life had ever known, Prussia glanced up. The two stared back at him with the same expression on either of their faces. Wide eyes, raised brows, and slightly dropped jaws. Austria blinked, and Hungary began to shake her head slowly.

"Wha-" she wiped at her eyes, blinking rapidly as if she had just seen his lips move wrongly, heard the wrong slew of words in the wrong order.

"I'm not a country anymore," he said it quietly and began to peel his nails again.

"But you're still a place!" Austria spoke it out with a twinge of fear in his voice before coughing and making a calm restart. "Hong Kong is not a country, nor is Sealand, and you don't see them fading away."

"When I get hurt," he began, eyeing the pan suspiciously as it sat on the table, "my wounds don't heal nearly as quickly as they used to. A tiny cut can take days to scar over, better yet for the scar to fade. Everything hurts more. Days feel longer." He had begun to ramble, his words flowing out quickly as his voice began to crack, "I fear I might be aging. I see Vati in my dreams. My skin is paler. My hair is lighter. My eyes are redder! People are forgetting me! PEOPLE DON'T NEED ME! I'M FA-" Prussia caught himself growing in intensity and inhaled deeply. With the exhale he closed his eyes and thought his lifelong mantra, the only thing that ever seem to calm him down, "Prussia, you are awesome." It seemed silly and brought a small smile to his face. "I think this is what fading away is like."

"You think? Can you be sure?" Austria furrowed his brows saying this while looking at Hungary who was still shaking her head.

"I don't know. My only other frame of reference would be Vati Germania, but he never shared the details with me. I just woke up one day and he wasn't there. I don't know if I'm fading, but I don't know what else this could be." Austria locked onto his gaze for a moment, and then found a novel of his own on the floor.

Hungary stood. "Well, I guess...if you...she can..." she gave up trying to come up with a witty response and spun on her heel towards the door. With Austria trailing awkwardly behind her, she slipped out of the room, down the hall, out the door, down the steps, and back home without another word.

* * *

"So they're in on it now. That's...uhm...good. The truth is good." Liet smiled at Prussia and hoped her joy would lift him up, even just a little.

"I guess. I just didn't want to tell them like that," he chuckled, "Because I was scared for my life and all. To awesome to die via skillet." Both laughed this time.

"Did they cry...like I did?"

"No. They didn't stay long though. And I do know, when I went to check up on them, Austria was playing on his piano. A...slow song." He dared not say sad. "Usually, Hungary sits in the window and listens to him, but, last night she wasn't there. I don't where she was, if she cried, or what she did, but she wasn't there." A silence followed. "Hey, our brothers are coming to nag us soon, I want a late night snack before that. Agreed?" The girl giggled and hopped up from the edge of Prussia's bed, starting towards the kitchen.

"I want more ice cream!"

"Okay. Don't eat too much thought, I don't want your hyper-ness be obvious. Switzy might just kill me anyway."

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Yay, next chapter! And I still have thirty minutes until I have to get ready for work. But that may not be enough time to reread, spell check, and post it. Huh. (Update: Decided to post anyways. Was supposed to be getting ready for work 15 mins ago so now I'm behind schedule. Hope I'm not late!). A lot of the first chapters of this are going to be people finding out about or being told of Prussia's fading, so I don't want them all to be the same with people bursting into tears. Also, more stern characters like Switzerland and Austria, I see them hiding their true reactions while Liechtenstein after a day of being strong couldn't handle it anymore. Agreed?

 **I won't put a quota this time on the number of reviews, but please review anyways, they make me happy!** I also probably won't be updating within a day though either XD. Hope the emotions and everything came across well here. Prussia is still trying to cope with fading just as much as everyone else. Anyone figured out the song yet? Probably not. These lyrics are kind of arbitrary. The next chapter's title though makes it PEERTTYY obvious without just saying the title of the song.

 **Do you read my author's notes?** I just like writing them cause I feel like I can put a bit of my personality in them and take a break from other seriousness, but I wonder if anyone...cares. Lol. I determine if a chapter is long enough by checking the word count of it, not including author s note. I aim for 1,000 to 2,500 words. This chapter has 2014 words. I added two more words just so it would be 2016 (year I m writing this). I'm an idiot!

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 _ **UPDATE:**_ After After-tea's review I figured I should explain myself. First of all, after a couple re-reads **I am not too fond of this chapter.** It's like...okay...whatever. I need the next one to pick up the story so I'll be thinking a lot on how to write it. Giant, Red Dragon (my other fanfic) is in kind of a rough place too so I've been lost on how to continue _it_ and get the desired effect. My writer's struggle is real. Second: **There will be more of Hungary.** There will be more of everyone mentioned one way or another but she and Germany especially will have their roles if this story writes out the way I want it to. Her true emotions just don't really show too much until they're in private. I'd imagine she's too embarrassed and thinks too highly of herself to be caught slipping up in front of Austria, even given the situation, that's why I made her leave immediately. BUT **THERE WILL BE TEARS** , hint, hint, wink, wink.


	3. Tell Me These Wounds Are a Lie

Just had to listen to some sad music to get myself in the mood to write this again. I really didn't feel like it, but I got myself on the verge of tears, imagined the events of this chapter, and here we are! Question for all of you so that I can get multiple opinions on this, _ **is Hetaoni scary?**_ I CANNOT handle scary things. No jump scares, nothing creepy, no gore (especially with real people. I can take it SOMETIMES in animation), like I can't do it at all. I've heard it's mostly just suspenseful which makes me think maybe I can stomach it but I don't wanna give myself nightmares. So y'all tell me. Scary or nah?

 **The song snippet on this one is really long, so it should help you guys figure out what the song actually is!** I really want someone to guess it so I can recommend you guys go listen to it or watch an AMV of it. It's. So. Flippin. Sad. At least to me. It's odd because I don't cry for things very often, but boy oh boy can I get deep into my feels.

Prussia and Romano is not a like SUPER popular ship (not that this is romantically based. It's just, basically people tend to be like OMG CHARACTER A AND CHARACTER B ARE IN THE SAME ROOM AT THE SAME TIME ALONG WITH 100 OTHER PEOPLE BUT WHATEVER IT'S CANON!) but I tend not to like the popular ones. Not that I like this. But not that I dislike this. It's just, I'm on all the tiny ships - heck, tiny row boats - like Fruk, Germancest and AmeriPan looking at the USUK with their drama CD, IggyPan and GerIta cruise liners just like oh okay fandom I see how it is. So let's give a less popular ship than Prucan some love! And speaking of, GUSY, LOOK, **THESE TWO SUPPORTING EACH OTHER IS CANON kind of** AND therefore NOT TOO FAR FETCHED OR OOC. LOOOOK hetaliaachives dot tumblr dot com /post/111026397765/blog-update-the-one-that-wasnt-there

Finally, I HAVE to **shout out you reviewers.** I know the protocol on here is to PM people, but like I just don't do that. I know I PMed SOMEONE in an effort to comply with the standard, but, idk who :). Sorry, I'm too awkward for this life. So had I PMed you this is what I would have said. **Emerlee54** glad you're excited. It's coming soon boo. And I'm not shipping anything here. I like to let my ships in my stories be mostly just hinted at, sort of like the anime I guess. The characters will interact, and you can decide if they're romantical feelings or not. *smiles evilly*. **Prusya** :DDDDD FLATTERY WILL GET YOU EVERYWHERE THANK YOU! **Vaetta** They do. Trust. It's just gonna take time for them to show it. **AHP Native America** You're hilarious you know. Smiles come to my face when I read your comments, but I think you've spent a lil too much time with Romano XD. I don't think I'll be abandoning this. I'm pretty into fanfic right now and I do like the story. So, fingers crossed? **Keiryu-san** Glad you like the mention of her! I figured if someone knew they were going to die, they'd tell all their friends and family, so that's kind of what I'm going here with Prussia informing many countries of it all. I love Heta families so even though the Germanic one isn't my fav, they'll all get their moment in the sun. And **I feel like the other 2 reviews have been previously addressed** so yay. From here on I will try to PM, but like, I have no memory, so we'll have to see *laughs awkwardly*.

Okay. Enough babbling. Let's start the chapter now. By the way, **this chapter accidentally had a lot more Spamano, Gerita and Prumano than I'd intended**. I mean you can consider it platonic if you want, it's not kissing or anything I just...it feels obvious now that I reread.

* * *

 ** _"Cover my eyes, cover my ears. Tell me these wounds are a lie."_** ** _-SSW_**

* * *

"Let's make some pasta! We can put wurst in it instead of meatballs! It'll be good!" the Italian boy recommended, twirling on his left foot, smiling at his taller companion.

"Italy deserves a little treat from time to time, West." The 'West' in question furrowed his brows in thought as the Italian boy gripped his arm and frowned lightly.

"Please, Germany?"

"N-Nien. We're supposed to be working right now." With that the man released the smaller nation's fury - in the form of tears. Italy burst out crying and begging for pasta and a break which led to his elder brother leaving his spot on the couch. Perfect.

"What did you say to make him cry potato bastard?" tears pricked this one's eyes as well and the younger of the two started to pound lightly on the German's chest.

"Germany is so mean to me lately! I just want some pasta! Why don't you love me?" The blonde became visibly flustered at that last comment and opened his mouth as if to speak, but only shrank away from his friend, a blush dusting his cheeks. The two stood like that for a while, one blubbering, the other unable to form a sentence until Prussia, who had been sitting at the table with one arm thrown over the back, interjected.

"West, just let him make the pasta it's not that big a deal." The two German brothers stared at one another until the younger curtly nodded.

"I suppose it's okay just this once."

"VE!~" Italy smiled and floated towards the stove leaving Germany looked relived to be released. He made his way to the freezer to grab a package of wurst. Having been left in the middle of the kitchen awkwardly, Romano looked at his brother, then at Germany, then at the wall nearest him, and finally to Prussia. His gaze lingered there for a moment, before he scoffed and marched out of the room. The albino made a mental note of the number four. That was the fourth time since the two had come over that Romano offered Prussia an odd glance. The first time was when the boys originally arrived. Prussia had gone to answer the door. He greeted the friendlier Italian with a big hug and nodded at the other who looked him up and down, blushed, and glanced to the side. The second was when Germany and Italy had taken off to the upstairs office to work on something or other. Romano stared at him for a solid thirty seconds while Prussia watched his brother bound up the stairs. Finally, he sensed the eyes on him and glanced at Romano, who quickly glanced and walked away. The third was when the duo came back downstairs, Germany chasing after Italy for having not done his work properly. They raced past Prussia, sending a blast of wind through his hair. When he recovered from the shock and looked forward, Romano was staring in his direction yet again before he realized this and began to sip his coffee trying to "act natural".

As he finished recounting, Prussia glanced up from the table to see green orbs staring at him from behind the door frame. Five.

"I-Idiota," the tomato lover stuttered, blushing and glancing at the ground, "I need to ask you something so you better get over here!" With that he turned and walked away, Prussia getting up to follow. The two ended up sitting in the living room. Red eyes found any entertainment they could in the carpet, while the Italian rubbed his hands together and silence sat between the two of them.

"Uhm..." Roma paused to think through his thoughts, and Prussia looked up at him.

"I...well... h-h-how can you tell if someone is g-going to fade away, huh, Basterdo?!" The albino could've sworn his heart forgot it was supposed to be beating. _How did he find out? Who old him? Who did he tell? Am I that obvious? Has GERMANY figured it out?_ He gulped.

"Wh-wh-why...why do you ask?"

"Because I'm just curious!"

"But, why are you asking me?"

"Weren't you around Germania and Grandpa when they...well when they died? You're the only person who'd know this stuff, dumbass. Why else would I ask you?"

The room filled with silence and all either one could hear was their heart hammering away in their chest. The sound of the clock ticking amplified as the albino rolled his thumbs around one another, staring at them and trying to process.

"Uhm, well, I mean, I...I don't-" Prussia was cut off by Romano's loud sigh.

"If you don't know then forget it, bastard! I don't know why I asked you anyways." He began to ramble, his words growing faster and faster, louder and louder. "All you pay attention to is yourself, so useless. You probably didn't even notice when Germania died. What is it with you, just potatoes and beer? But what did I expect? Forget I asked, asswipe. How could I be fading away anyhow?" He turned harshly, his one stray curl whipping behind him as he began to storm out of the room mumbling obscenities at the sky.

Until he was stopped by a cold hand grabbing his arm.

"How could _YOU_ be fading away?"

Romano paused and reddened, realizing his mistake. He tore his arm loose and spoke to Prussia, still facing the exit. "T-The Italian government isn't separate anymore...so there was a chance me or fratello would... but you know what? Forget it!"

"Romano, sit down."

He didn't move, so, Prussia stood and placed both hands on his shoulders, gently guiding him back to the couch. The two looked at each other, one of which with eyes glowing a fierce magenta. His usual cocky smile was replaced with a sort of grimace as he searched through the others' face for signs of insincerity. He found none, just a genuine concern below the Italian's scowl.

"I may know a way, actually," the red-eyed man stated before edging out of the room. He returned moments later, one hand lingering slightly behind his back. He kneeled in front of the other in the room, set down whatever was behind his back, and began to roll up one of the legs of the others' pants.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" Roma cried, and he was ignored as the man rolled his pant leg up as far as it would go before revealing the kitchen knife behind him. Quickly, prior to the other had a chance to object, a thin slice was taken from the skin.

"OW! WHAT THE HELL?!" Romano continued to go on ignored, as Prussia grabbed a paper towel from his breast pocket and used it to dab away the bit of blood trailing down the Italian's leg.

"So now," Prussia's voice was deep and had lost all of it's usual sense of playfulness, "you need to wait for it to heal and see how long it takes." The other nation's anger was quickly replaced by understanding as his eyebrows raised and scowl faded. The sound of footsteps interrupted their saddened stares as Prussia was forced to quickly cover traces of his handiwork and take a seat on the couch next to the other.

"Pasta is ready~!" Italy yelled, lunging into the room. His brother and friend got up and followed him to the kitchen, both oddly quiet, but the bubbly, oblivious Italian barely noticed.

* * *

Romano was sitting on his bed, alone yet again in he and his brother's quiet house. Italy had gone off with his boyfriend - or so Romano called him - and left him to sulk alone for what felt like the millionth time. His eyes lingered on the illuminated screen of his phone as he pondered weither or not he should press 'new message'. _Hanging out with the Spaniard wouldn't be so bad would it? Yes he would bother me and say cocky things, but I'm lonel...or rather, Spain just needs someone to watch out for him. The idiot would end up stomped to death by a bull if I didn't help him. I could just ask him a-_

 _Ping._

Romano's thoughts were disturbed by a new message. He pondered the glowing name on the screen. _Potato Bastard #2 (84)_. The tomato lover knew exactly what Prussia's 84th message to him would be, and he also knew he was scared of it. After a moment longer spent silently debating, he finally opened their tread.

 _"Romano, is the cut on your leg still there?"_ He set down his phone on the mattress beside him and began to shift till his leg was comfortably out from under the sheets. Leaning down, shaky hands began to peel back the thin pajama bottoms he was wearing. The man couldn't help but close his eyes as the material glided further and further up his leg. Romano released the material and fanned his face, hopping to cool his body back to an acceptable temperature, and breathed deep heavy breaths begging his heart rate to calm down. Finally, the man glanced at his leg.

Red as a rose, a small but significant cut had just begun to scar over on his calf. It had been four days since the wound was inflicted.

 _"Yes"_ He replied and tried to swallow despite his dry throat. The man went to lick his lips and realized his tongue was dry too. A trembling right hand held the phone as he waited, a bead of sweat already dripping down his back. _Respond already dickface. Why is he not replying?_ He felt nervous tears prick at his eyes and began again to fan his face and breathe heavily, each breath feeling like a stab wound to his dry vocal chords. _Hurry up you damn bastard._

 _Ping._

He paused.

He read the screen, then reread it. He looked at his reflection in the mirror across from his bed, then glanced back down and reread the screen again. The message remained.

 _"I'm sorry Roma"_

Romano felt his heart slowly thump to a slow stop as his eyes widened. _Sorry? Sorry for what?_

"You can't be serious." It came out as barely a whisper as his voice cracked and a hand raised to cover his trembling lips.

"Sorry for what?" he forced himself to say, as if he didn't already know. Sorry that he hadn't healed at even close to the rate of a real country. Sorry for the fact that his very existence was at risk of ending.

Tears fell. They rolled down supple, tanned cheeks, over a quivering hand, and onto the bed sheets. He closed and covered his eyes and begged his phone to have been lying to him when he opened them. He begged God, and Romania, the spirits, the stars, and anything else he could think of to please either let that wound be a lie or the message he thought he read to have been wrong. When he opened them again, nothing changed and he gripped his calf, trying to focus his tear-blurred vision on the cursed scar.

"HEAL DAMN YOU!" he spat out to it, "HEAL! _PLEASE!_ "

It only stung.

* * *

 _"I'm sorry Roma"_

He had typed and sent that message while buckling his seat belt. By the time it had processed and gone through, Prussia had pulled out of the driveway and was headed straight for the Italian's house. Every stop sign or red light he got, he would glance back at his phone and still no response from Romano.

 _"I'm sorry Roma"_

Maybe it was too harsh. Maybe it was too sudden and he should've worded it differently. Prussia himself had plenty of time to deny and slowly come to accept his fate, whereas it had all been thrown onto Romano like a brick building. He should've called, or simply gone over without responding, or said something more sincere. He should've been more understanding.

Feeling very lucky for having lived in a country with no real speed limits on the highway, the albino raced down to the peninsula to make amends. Was he really so stupid? To just say he was sorry? Not even explain or offer any support? Just a halfhearted sorry?

What felt like decades later, Prussia tumbled out of the car faster than the seat belt would have liked him to and raced inside. The Italians didn't lock their front door, a bad habit, but a useful one never the less. Down the hall, up the stairs, down that hall, second door on the right. It was Romano's room according to Prussia's memory and the 'keep out' sign plastered to the door. Ignoring the sign's warning, he turned the doorknob and peered in. Maybe keeping out wouldn't have been so bad.

The Italian man sat on the floor, head in his arms which rested on the side of his bed. His phone was still on the bed, center focus of a certain rumbled section of the sheets. His body shook and light sobs left his lips.

 _So that's how he reacted? Not denial or anger or anything, but by crying?_ The Italian brothers were infamous for crying. Crocodile tears were not even a thought for them as even the slightest disturbance left them sitting in a pool of salty tears. However, Romano wasn't just crying there. He was scared. He was grieving. He was trying to accept and also trying to deny or possibly hope. His cries were not of discomfort or displeasure, but of a bone deep _pain._

It was hard to watch.

"Romano?"

"Get out!" The snap back in his rich accent wasn't even the slightest bit surprising to the albino as he took a step closer. He knelt down and placed a hand on the broken man's shoulder.

"Ro-"

"I SAID OUT!" he slapped the hand away and Prussia had a moment to look at the man's face. Look at the fear, fury, and hurt in his eyes, look at the angry brows pointing downwards towards the trembling lips, look at the red and pink dotted cheeks, puffy from strain, and look at the crystal clear tears sliding down his face. Just a moment before Romano slipped back into his arms and sobbed louder.

"Romano, I'm sorry."

"I KNOW, I SAW."

The albino couldn't help but inwardly cringe as his repeat offense, but somehow it was all he could think to say.

"Romano, I-"

"SHUT UP AND GET OUT!"

"But-"

"WE GET IT, OKAY? I'M WEAK!" his voice cracked at the strain, "ITALY WILL TAKE OVER BECAUSE I'M WEAK! I'M FADING! I'M FALLING, I'M-" he whimpered and shook his head. "I'm nothing anymore. We get it."

Roma could feel his tears burning his eyes and silence befell the room. Weak. Him. Maybe he wasn't the best painter like his brother and he couldn't dance like Spain. He didn't necessary have a way with words or weapons and he knew good and well he could only get the ladies his little brother wasn't already flirting with, but, weak? He felt a persistent man's hand rubbing on his back. Weak.

"I'm sorry Roma. I get it." A sudden and vicious wave of anger swept across the weak nation's body.

"YOU _GET IT?_ No the hell you don't ass wipe! Don't you _DARE_ call me Roma! You don't GET what it's like to be-"

Finally, it was Prussia's turn to interject. "Romano I do understand how you're feeling."

"NO YOU-"

"Do you think not being a country anymore has just been a cake walk for me?" It came out a bit sassier, well, angrier than the nation had intended. All the soft support he'd tried to coax into his tone disintegrated with that remark. Romano stared in shock, fresh tears still falling, but he was too shaken to gasp for air or protest the other nation's presence.

"How long do you have?"

Prussia chuckled sadly. "It doesn't work like that, Roma. I don't know." He drew back, expecting backlash for his second "Roma" mistake, but received none. Depressed eyes squinted at him, and the Italian man, for the first time in his life, referred to the man before him by first name.

"Prussia," it stunned them both to hear that sound protrude from his lips, and as another hot tear lined his olive skin, a whimper of a whisper came out. "I don't want this." His voice wavered, heart broke, and a fresh, new wave of tears and sobbing over took him. A pale, unsure hand rested on his shoulder before the man collapsed forwards, hiding his tear-streak-en face in the other's chest. Prussia pulled him in close and held him tightly, half hoping to squeeze the pain away, as Romano covered his eyes and whispered to himself in a soft Italian.

* * *

"What's the worst part of it all?"

"The worst?" the man brushed a white bang away from his eyelash and pondered. "I'm so proud of West, but, I just..."

"Wish it was him and not you?"

"Yea...but..."

"You're also kinda happy it's you?" The albino laughed heartily and leaned back, plopping his back on the bed they were sitting on the edge of.

"You really do get it."

"It's...nice to have someone in my situation. Even a beer whore like you." The duo sat in silence feeling the light glow of the sun dust their skin. They had stayed up all night, shifting around the room from the floor to the bed, to chairs in the corner and now back to the edge of the bed just talking. Talking about their fears, their insecurities, things they liked, the things they still wanted to do, anything. It was odd for both at first, realizing that their seemingly bitter or cocky companion had emotions beyond what they showed the world, but it slowly started to make sense. Romano, according to Prussia's new understanding of him, has always been jealous of his brother and begging for his, or Spain's, or Ancient Rome's approval. Now he felt he'd never get it. Prussia, according to Romano's understanding, was once as awesome as he now claims to be, but as he gawked over his little brother and put all of himself into raising him into a beautiful country, his own fell apart, and now he hangs on by a thread.

"It's good that it's me," Romano finally said, "I mean...it honestly should've been more obvious. The idiota I call a brother can't do anything without bursting into tears - he couldn't handle this. Besides, no one even calls me Italy. They'll all probably forget about me nice and easy."

"No one's going to forget us." Romano raised an unconvinced eyebrow at his friend. "Spain will remember you. And France. And North. And I would say Germany but he better be too busy remembering me." That stifled a laugh from the brunette as he plopped down on the mattress as well. He held a hand up and tried to spin it as fast as the ceiling fan.

"Speaking of the Potato fetish, does he know?" The other man hummed back and shook his head. "You planning on telling him?" Another shake of the head. "You should."

"Well, you should tell North." Romano furrowed his brow at this and exhaled deeply.

"He can't handle this. He'll cry for the rest of my life."

"And West would-"

"Cry?"

"Doubt it, South Italy, he would just...I don't know really. But I feel like it'll be unawesome and I don't want to subject him to that."

"South Italy?"

"It's what you are isn't it?" It had explained why Prussia had suddenly swapped to calling 'Italy' 'North'. The brunette couldn't help but allow the smile prickling at his cheeks to grow. It had been a long night of nothing but pouting, so this was a nice break for him to grant his face.

"Don't suddenly start calling me that out of guilt, Dickfart." The grin widened.

"The whole compass is in trouble," Prussia responded. When his companion's reply was a turn of the head towards him and a look of general confusion, he decided to elaborate with pointing gestures from the sky, to Romano, to himself and back to the sky. "North, South, East, West." The bed began to rumble, shocking both into jumping away from each other, until they realized it was just Prussia's phone. He picked it up from deep underneath the sheets and scanned the screen before standing up.

"Burder is wondering where I've run off to. I oughta go return his car."

"Okay. Well...bye, Prussia." The albino laughed.

"Come on. Your bruder is probably at over there too."

Romano frowned and knitted his brows together before barking out one of his usual, awkward and shy responses masked by rudeness. "Alright. Not that I haven't spent more than enough time with the freak of nature, mini me, and brainless brawn lately." East only laughed in response and led his ally to the bathroom, urging him to get dressed. Both men, now on either side of a wooden door glanced at their new wound that refused to heal up fast enough, before rolling their clothes over top them, imagining the other man doing the same, and smiling to themselves.

* * *

Well! **That chapter accidentally ended up WAY WAY WAY WAY longer than I'd intended.** I felt like I kept using the same insults for Romano and tried to mix it up at the end, so, hopefully it worked out okay. Also, I hope you didn't think Roma was too OOC. I just mean, he MUST have feelings other than hatred for people like he puts off. Hima rarely shows that side of him so I didn't know how to go about it but...I hope it was okay? I wrote this one a little differently, with time skips and a focus on dialog so that's probably why it's so dagum long. Also I didn't focus much on crying this chapter because like he's always crying and there's going to be a lot of tears in this story so I want to save my "talents" for later. This chapter took me three days to write, so, I hope you guys like it. Today I learned neither the word potato or tomato end in e. I'm a horrible speller.

 **Apparently Austria and Prussia have a drama CD too. Here's my reactions** (this one has highlights from both USUK and PruAus drama CDs). This video has an intro. SKIP. Okay, now I've paused at the first moan 40 seconds in. Laughing, scrolling through comments, laughing more at "all I do is sin sin sin no matter what, got YAOI on my mind I can never get enough". Okay. I'm gonna press play here we go. Lord, forgive me.

OH MY GOOODDD! I USUALLY LISTEN TO DUB BUT I CAN TELL IT'S THEM AND SORT OF UNDERSTAND THIS OH MY GOOOOOOOODDDDDD! Who has the higher voice in sub? THE ONE WITH THE HIGHER VOICE IS BOTTOMING! IS THAT ENGLAND? I WILL DIE EITHER WAY BUT STILL OH MY GOOODD! HE'S TELLING HIM TO WAIT. "Matei, matei somebody-san!" "Matei...urashi" TOO HAPPY TO STOP?! IM DYING! Paused again at 2 minutes in. The moaning was too much. My stomach is tingling. I can't do this. *rewinds a bit and presses play despite that last statement* Okay. Now it left the USUK and has swapped to PruAus. Oh those voices I can tell again who's who. It's so...aaaahhh! My soul! Okay. This is kinda hot. Shame on myself for letting my yaoi heart slip out. Oh it sounds so painful. Oh I can't. I can't i cant i canticanticant! I CAN'T! THE MOANING IS SO CLOSE TOGETHER HOW FAST IS HE PUMPING?! WHY IS THERE PIANO MUSIC AS IF IT'S AT ALL APPROPRIATE?! These poor voice actors. First you made them sing and now this? The booty kinda sounds like squishing ur hand in mayo or macaroni. Lol. Okay, piano music seeing me out. Video over. There's links to other drama CDs. I am very very VERY tempted to click one. Christ. I need some holy water that was not okay.

 **Please review** because it makes me happy and I kinda like hearing what I did well and what I could improve upon. Also I'd love more **opinions in the reviews on if hetaoni is scary**. Finally, and I feel like I'm going to regret saying this, but, **if y'all request, I'll react to another drama CD** after the next part. Need something to lighten the mood after all the...like...crying. Okay. I gotta go, this chapter is over 5 thousand words, literally DOUBLING the length of this. This story is fun to write but Jesus Christ I need to tone it down. Alright, bye guys! Luv you!


	4. I Won't Let You Slip Away From Me

Okay so, I had to do some research for this chapter. By research I mean skimming Wikipedia and TL;DRing the dissolving of Prussia in my head. So, with that being said, you should know that **in this point in the story WW2 has ended and Germany is paying his price.** I feel like this chapter will be bad no matter what I do, so I'm just going to start typing. **I do NOT claim that this is historically accurate** , just that I typed it and put a LITTLE thought into it first. Mkay? cool. I mean come on, they have iphones and fancy cars in 1947.

I have suddenly realized that the Berlin wall has not gone up yet. Therefore, it doesn't really make sense for Prussia to be calling Germany 'West' because it's still just one Germany. Crap.

 **Germany and Prussia talk to each other in German** , okay. I'm just not going to make my German viewers suffer through horrible google translate, so use your imagination.

Paused to read the wiki debate on if HRE is Germany with amnesia or not and holy crapolia polla my mind is blown. Like, there's a lot of confusion on it because Hima has (ingeniously, but aggravatingly) never properly drawn Germany as a child or HRE as a teen. In one photo, he has an unlabeled teenager boy who looks like both of them (HRE because of hair, Germany because of outfit) and confuses everyone. Then, technically because Prussia was born named Teutonic Knights, HRE should be his OLDER brother. But in one of Hima's latest strips, Prussia is at least physically older than HRE who calls him his brother, but it's theorized by translators that him calling him that was an accident. So, if that's the case, HRE was born, then Prussia, then Germany. Also, it's not super CLEAR on who HRE's father is. Prussia's is Germania, no doubt. Germany is related to Germania but weither he's his son or grandson is unknown. HRE is left up in the air. Then, when HRE leaves chibitalia for the last time, Hima assures the fans that the two will have a happy ending. Then, HRE supposedly dies. So when? When Germany becomes a country and re-meets Italy? Or was something about HRE and Chibitalia's final words to each other supposed to be the happy ending? Or did Hima just say that and then realize he couldn't go back to it? Hima-sama, can you just pick a side please because I'm so lost. Couldn't of made HRE a brunette or something?! **For the sake of this story, I will not be taking a clear stance on whether or not HRE is Germany, simply accepting that he either died or went into a** **comma-like state Prussia confused for death.**

* * *

 _ **"I Won't Let You Slip Away From Me." \- Ryan Dan**_

* * *

And so, it was a fountain pen. Prussia picked up the object with it's fat barrel cascading from a matte black near to glossy golden paint and rolled it on his fingers. It would be a fountain pen atop a deeply stained mahogany desk that did it. He ran his free hand across the black, grey, and white marbled top of the desk while walking slowly along it. He smiled lightly and looked up and around at the room surrounding him. Cream colored walls, dense carpet beneath his feet, crown molding, golden and brass flag poles with red, blue, and white or black,red, and yellow cascading off of them, a Persian rug in the left corner which held a ovular coffee table and two love seats above it. And so, this is were it would happen.

Just a month and some days earlier, Prussia had found himself thanking God for another year of life. He knelt beside his bed, cross necklace in his palms protected by interlocked fingers, and whispered a happy prayer in the dark, to himself, all alone, on his birthday. Oh, the irony. A moment that was supposed to be happy occurred in dimly lit silence, meanwhile _this_ room got to be illuminated and honored. The pen glinted with sunlight from an opened window as he rolled it in his hand once again eyeing it.

"How does it feel?" he asked the pen, "to be so powerful?" He flicked a finger over its nib, getting a touch of ink on himself. The dot of black refused to be wiped away from his finger; it lingered, mocking him.

"Prussia?" The man looked up to find a set of ocean blue eyes studying him in shock. The albino found himself leaning back against the wooden traitor, setting down the writing instrument, and widening his smile.

"Hello, France." The man in question, lowered his head and allowed the blonde locks he had kept out of his purple ribbon to cover his face.

"I did everything I could," he cleared his throat, "my boss...won't listen," he tilted his head a bit lower and blinked rapidly in an attempt to force back the tears blurring his vision, " _Pardon, mon amis._ [Sorry, my friend]"

" _Ce n'est pas de ta faute_ , [It's not your fault]" the albino found himself responding in his friend's language before making his way from the desk to him. He placed a hand on the French man's head and shook it lightly, stifling a small laugh from the recipient.

"Prussia, are you _sure_ you'll be alright?"

"Yes, I've told you a billion times. I have experience with this kind of stuff. Trust me Francford, I'll be fine." The grey haired man scooted his friend to the side and slid out the door past him. He recalled it being a long walk to that room, very long, at least for a building. Nearly took him fifteen minutes to get from the parking lot to there, and so, in his small journey back, he allowed his thoughts to loose him. They drifted almost instantly back to that pen sparkling black, and gold, the colors of modern day elegance and class. He eyed the blotch of ink staining his otherwise porcelain skin and scowled at it.

He could deny it all he wanted to.

He could tell his friends whatever lies they needed to hear to remain calm and not feel _guilty_.

He could not, however, ignore the facts. And the facts were simple, really.

The facts, whether or not he liked it, were just so very simple.

That pen - that fountain-ed, paint coated, shimmering pen - would end his life. He found himself scoffing at the thought. Time after time he had seen it, be it by pen, quill, handshake, or verbal agreement, he had seen country after country and empire after empire fall to nothing. It would take _nothing_ to end him. A simple flick of the wrist as some condescending army or air force marshals and generals signed an undignified sheet of parchment. Then ink of that pen landing on the fibers of that paper would end him. Those people had little concern for him or his well being, be it that they even knew a personification of Prussia existed, and honestly at that point the man felt he could storm into the room and beg for mercy to no avail. Beg that his land stay his, beg that he just reduce in size, beg that he be moved on the map, beg that his name changed, beg that he was left as even a single, solitary, _building_ , beg for anything other than the phrase "cease to exist". He knew he would receive no pity. Maybe some twinge of fear or guilt would run through those men, and maybe for a moment he could make them feel like they and that pen were evils of the world. But that would not stop them from signing, this much he knew good and well.

Prussia forced open the door of the complex and shielded his demonic eyes from the rays of sunlight that attacked him. He knew that he was walking through the parking lot, he knew that he unlocked and climbed into his car, and he knew he turned onto the road with a destination of his driveway in mind. What he did not know was how he ended up at his little brother's house. It wasn't until he shut off the car and got his seat belt half off that he even realized he was there. It was similar to how some mornings, people would be driving to their work only to realize that it's Sunday, the office is closed, and they were actually trying to go to the mall. Somehow, his mind had blacked out on him while driving, took a few alternate turns, and led him here.

 _West is probably busy_ he found himself thinking. In the back of his mind, he processed secondary thoughts. Thoughts that were so obvious to him he didn't even have to properly think them. Thoughts like breathe, blink, and go inside the house. So, despite his one sided mental debate, Prussia found himself opening his car door. _He probably has all sorts of meetings with his bosses and Italy and Italy's bosses._ He walked up the pathway to the door. _Prussia, this is a stupid waste of time. His car isn't even here. I mean it could be in the garage, but, he's busy! Germany just lost a war, he doesn't have time for this!_ He pulled a spare key from his back pocket. Y _ou don't have to do this._ He opened the door and looked in at the empty corridor before sighing and stepping in. One of his secondary thoughts made its way to the surface. _Yes you **do**._

"West," he nearly whispered before clearing his throat and trying again, the door squeaking shut, "West!" He cried it the second time more authoritatively, but a silence rang through the house regardless.

"West!" The quiet prevailed.

"WEST!" and the man continued to receive no response. _Go home_ , he thought, truly pondering turning around and getting in the car, before he heard a door open and water running through the ceiling. Someone was home. Someone had left the bathroom. Someone could now _hear him._

"West?"

"What?" a sharp, German voice snipped back at him. Prussia felt his stomach twist itself into a knot and his heart fall out of his body.

Germany was not supposed to be home. Prussia was supposed to try to tell his brother the truth, not have time, and his brother was supposed to find out through his boss or the news or something of the sort. Germany was NOT supposed to actually be present to hear what he had to say, because, he had nothing to say. Quite frankly, he didn't feel like discussing the loss of the war. He did not feel like detailing the possibility of his death. He had no desire to have his precious, little brother think it was somehow his fault Prussia had fallen apart. None whatsoever. He secondary thoughts - those verdammt things - forced his body up the stairs and to the door his brother was on the other side of.

Prussia felt sick. No, he felt faint. He could not go into that room, secondary thoughts or not! His torso was on fire. He could literally already feel sweat making his hands clammy - far too clammy to maneuver the door handle, or so he'd decided - and rolling down his back. The room seemed to sway. No. This was not possible. He could NOT do this. He wouldn't! It wasn't his job! Germany probably already knew! His boss situation has been a little off since the treaty and Hitler's suicide and all but surely someone had updated him. Prussia was not about to be the one to do it if not. No way in all of he-

"WHA- oh. What do you need Bruder?" Germany stood in the door frame, hand rested on his half of the handle wearing a t-shirt, socks, and boxer briefs. He'd had a highlighter tucked behind his ear and a blue pen resting on his shirt's collar. He stared in confusion and slight annoyance as the owner of the red set of eyes before him absolutely froze.

"Bruder?"

"WEST!" It was a shrill response, a shock registering in the tone that had kicked in far too late. "West...I uhhh, well...I guess I like, need to talk to you."

"Well speak then." Germany shifted his weight to one foot and waited with his irritation growing. He had been on the phone all morning trying to figure something, _anything_ out about the control council's bidding. There were still plenty of war criminals that needed to be processed - which he would of helped with had he found someone, _anyone_ to give him a list of names - and apparently they were doing something new soon, something he hadn't heard of because of all the disorganization. It was driving the man absolutely mad with rage and now his brother had come over to share some "awesome news" or talk about some birds or something and Germany was just drawn too thin of it all.

"West, really."

"Really what?"

"It's important," his brother remarked quietly, eyeing the ground. Germany sighed. Nothing Prussia had ever said was important was actually important. The time he had found an albino chick for sale a five hour drive away for way too much money - not important. The time he had blended together three kinds of beer for his personal mix, delicious, but not important. Even when Germany was young, and Prussia bought him a dog, while it was probably the best day of his life, it was NOT important. At least not more important than what he had been doing prior to getting interrupted: meeting his first official boss. Germany also knew his brother to be the persistent type and accepted that it was easier to just comply with his wants most the time. He turned around and took a seat on his back, leaning back onto the pillow-chair he had made against the headboard. His brother sat across from him and fiddled with the sheets.

"Prussia," Germany called, bidding his sibling to speak.

"Uhm...well..." Prussia wiped his still sweaty palms on his sleeves and rested a hand then on his stomach, begging it to stop twisting and untwisting itself. "I...my place was used in Germany as a military powerhouse before, with a lot of leaders and such coming from there, before the end of the war."

"Yes."

"Well...I-I can't use it for that stuff anymore."

"I know."

Prussia never once lifted his gaze even close to meeting his brother's eyes. Eyes that had lost all irritation and shifted instead to curiosity, searching for something in Prussia's body language that showed whatever emotion on his face he was trying so hard to hide.

"I thought we already talked about this, Bruder," the blonde one continued, "We can find another purpose for it. The land could become an industrial hub. With all the soldiers returning, we are definitely going to need more jobs and some kind of circulation to get the economy back in-"

"I can't use it," Prussia sighed mid sentence, bringing a hand to his forehead. It was steaming. His whole body was radiating heat and his stomach was still finding enjoyment in seeing how tightly it could coil, making it's beholder horribly nauseous. "I can't use it for military advancements anymore because they're redistributing my land." Germany's eyes bulged as he leaned away from his brother, trying to absorb.

"What?!"

"Redistributing. The state of Prussia itself is...uhm...it's going to cease to...after today..." Prussia paused, and forced himself to breathe. He forced himself to smile, and sit up straight. He looked Germany in the eyes, before quickly deciding he didn't have the strength and going instead for the bridge of his nose. He felt his rose-colored eyes watering, and only widened his smile, pressing both hands on his hips. "The state of Prussia is going to cease to exist after today. Isn't that something?"

What was this? What was this look in his elder brother's eyes? They smiled, they squished and twinkled just as they were supposed to, but there was something else. Some concern and sadness threaded in there. It reminded Germany of when he was a boy. Prussia's boss, Ferderick was his name, had passed away. Prussia had the same look in his eyes when he regarded Germany with a smile, before locking himself in his room for several days to wallow in sadness. The look had not resurfaced anywhere between then and now, and Germany almost forgot what it felt like. Almost. But he knew that it felt helpless, like he was a million miles away from Prussia and every second they drifted farther from one another. He could try to run towards him, he could try to catch him, but he could never make it. He could try to hug him, to comfort him, to tell him encouraging things, but it would all fall to deaf ears and a lost soul. He should've never lost this war. He should have never even gone to war! What was he thinking? Putting everything at risk like this? His father had done and and where had that gotten him? He had heard of the Holy Roman Empire falling into a similar trap. Saxony, Bavaria, the countless other nations that had done away with themselves to elevate _him_ and this is how he repay them? How he repay his _brother! His only remaining family?! His mentor?! His **BLOOD?!**_

"Germany!" The blonde found a hand on his knee. "This is not your fault okay? Don't think that! I see you thinking that! _Stop!_ I have not been an empire or country for a long while! It was only a matter of time..."

"DON'T SAY THAT!" He screamed back, it sounding particularly harsh in his native language. He launched himself from the bed, away from his brother's hold and his own _shame_.

"West, I still have time!"

"I CAN STOP THIS!" Without pausing to think, in a rare state of panic, Germany turned to his closet and nearly tore a pair of jeans putting them on.

"West-"

"I can just GO DOWN THERE and STOP. THIS. There has to be a way! Some kind of negotiation to be made or-"

"WEST!" Prussia stood guarding the door, both eyes bearing into the others'. Germany ignored this fact and stormed towards the door, willing to tear it down if he had to. He could just go and say something to the right person and stop this from happening. He wouldn't have to loose anyone else. He wouldn't be left alone again. Prussia wouldn't have to suffer if he could just-

"DO YOU THINK I HAVEN'T TRIED EVERYTHING?!" two stern hands on his shoulders shook him from his trance and he slowly registered Prussia screaming at him, looking back and forth from his brother's red irises, his senses seeming to come back to him. "I HAVE SPOKEN WITH THEM! I TALKED TO EVERY ONE OF THEM IN CHARGE THAT I COULD! I PROPOSED ANYTHING ANYONE COULD THINK OF! I FOUGHT FOR MYSELF! I BARGAINED! I PLEADED! I _begged!_ I... did you think I was just going to just heel over, West? I tried. I really truly did, but this is the way it is."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Germany asked, stepping back and appearing to be calm.

"I couldn't."

"So...after tonight, you're just going to..."

"No!" Prussia cried, hoping it was the truth, "I-I have time."

"What do you mean?" Prussia gulped and studied his brother before continuing. He had lost the burst of adrenaline that would have led him straight to Berlin to protest otherwise. He now stood sort of limp and tired. He looked as if he had been awake for years with dark rings suddenly under his eyes and a deflation in his cheeks. Germany's eyes were always very dull, and hard to read. If he wasn't enraged you'd almost never know how else he felt. Now, those pools of blue quite clearly showed nothing but misery.

"Holy Roman Empire came to live with me after he was dissolved," Prussia commented, remembering carrying the small boy's limp body to bed one night when he fell asleep by the fire, "he stayed with me for maybe fifty or sixty more years before he died." Germania did not live a day after his empire fell. Germany was too young at the time to remember it, but the fear in Prussia's young heart was seared there for ever as he watched his beloved father leave for business in the morning and finally accepted , days later, that he would not return, and all Prussia could do now, was hope that his fate would not be the same. "I've got time."

Holy Roman Empire had lived every day in fear. He was a fun, happy little boy who liked to read, write, and paint despite being bad at it. He was bitter for having had to leave all his friends, and everything he'd ever known really, to hide with Prussia. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to fade away. He was a scared little boy and Prussia...no, Germany, didn't deserve that fear. He shouldn't have to live wondering if his brother was going to wake up the next morning. Prussia would save him from that.

"But, you _are_ going to fade away?"

"I might not. And if I do, it's not for a long time!"

"A LONG TIME?! You're giving me mere DECADES Prussia!" The German quickly whipped his head to the side to shield his brother from seeing the tear that escaped and slid down his face. He masked wiping it away with scratching his cheek. " _Decades._ "

"They'll be...very good decades. I'll be here." Prussia walked forwards, eyes locked on his sibling every inch, until he leaned in and wrapped his arms around the taller, broader frame, embracing him. "I'll be here... I _promise_ I will be here for you... Okay?" Prussia could feel the man's deep, unsteady breaths and the slight trembling of his chest. He listened to Germany's heart hammer on rapidly.

"Okay, Germany?" He was pulled in closer to his younger sibling's warmth, finally being hugged back, the other's head resting in his silver locks.

"Okay."

* * *

So I'm splitting this chapter in two. WHOOPS! This just go so long and like...oh wow. I've been writing for three hours. THREE HOURS. Lol I am pathetic. Also, **someone finally guessed the song! Tears of an Angel!** Go on youtube and seach like "Tears of an angel hetalia prussia" or something. You'll understand why I HAD to write this story. HAD TO. Also, the lyric pick for this chapter does not work because I like...these characters got away from me. They started acting a little OOC and the reactions I had planned for both of them faded into the abiss and this happened. I feel the need to always say, **there will be more of ALL the characters. Romano, Hungary, Austria, Litchenstien, Germany, France, and Switzerland with have other apperances!** Anyways, I know everyone has been waiting for Germany's reaction (again, more to come) but this ended up being alittle more about Prussia than him and it's just like idk. I hope it was good.

 _ **I hope you liked it. If you did, review. If you didn't, review. If you don't care, review.**_ I LOVE READING REVIEWS YOU GUYS ARE SO AWESOME :DDDD


	5. I Won't Let You Fly, I Won't Say Goodbye

This didn't really look right without a starting author's note. The end one says more important stuff. Now that I'm rereading I don't think this chapter is all that great, but I really don't see myself re-doing it. It gets the point across and I'm no Charles Dickens so it is what it is.

* * *

 _ **"I won't let you fly, I won't say goodbye." -Ryan Dan**_

* * *

"Just go, Germany."

"Prussia, _no._ I can't leave you here." There was a slight hint of desperation in his voice that only someone who'd known him his whole life would be able to detect.

"I've told you a million times that I will be alright," his voice cracked, "so can you please just-"

"It's not even important!"

"Germany! You know you have to go!" Prussia stood at the front door about a foot away from his little brother with an angry sorrow in his expression. He tried his best to stare him down, try to intimidate some sense into him and force him out the door, but the blond in question simply shook his head.

"West, you cannot miss this meeting. They are completely changing the geographical organization of your country! Your boss will be there, and bosses and leaders from all the Allies. You have to go."

"I can't."

"West..." There was a silence as Prussia studied his brother's face. He noticed the tears welling, but it seemed a little ridiculous to even suggest they could fall. The German man stood his ground with a stern determination in his expression and his usual, dead, deep, blue eyes.

"They're dissolving you, Prussia."

Silence.

"I can't leave, and then come back, and find you not here."

"West-"

"I _can't._ "

"West," Prussia sighed and rested a hand on his sibling's shoulder, "I will be here. I will." He prayed that that statement was not a lie.

"I'm calling Hungary to watch over you."

"I've already called for someone."

"You have?"

"Yes," Prussia assured, grabbing his brother's other shoulder and using his grip on both to turn the man around, facing him towards the door. "If I so much as blink weirdly, we will call you immediately. You know you can't miss this meeting, and I don't want you missing it for me when that doesn't make any sense, so go." Germany stood in silence, his gaze sliding down the door to it's knob. He knew he had to attend, he just didn't want to. He wanted to act foolish and protest the inevitable and hope that doing so would change something. Make the situation into some kind of mistake or misconception. Make it so that he could ensure his elder's safety and go on happily has if nothing had happened. But still, he knew he had to go.

"Bruder?" the blond questioned, not turning from the door for a fear of what he would see if he did, "are you okay? Not physically, but...are you okay?" He heard the man behind him sigh and felt two, cold hands drop from his shoulders.

"This is a hard time for you, West, so don't-"

"A hard time for _me_?"

"...Yes. You have always made me so proud, mein bruder. You built yourself up from a collection of crumbling disasters into a socially and economically prosperous country. You've grown into a polite, hard-working, strong...ridiculously _stubborn_ man," he laughed, giving his brother a little shove, and let a warm smile take his face, "You've carried on everything Vati stood for, and I can't thank you enough for that. War has not been kind to you - not that it ever is kind. You're on hard times, and need to recover, and that's more than okay. But, I need you to be on top of it. I don't want this one loss to destroy everything you've become. Everything mein awesome has taught you."

"But in comparison-"

"DON'T compare yourself to me right now. Don't. West, I'm telling you this is not that big a deal," he tried in vain to let his usual playfulness slip into his voice, "I fell from being an empire or country and am fine. This doesn't mean anything. Please just worry about you. Make sure..." he let his voice trail off but that didn't keep his mind from thinking it. Make sure you don't fail and fall apart like I did. Like Holy Roman Empire did. Like Germania did. Like so many did before us and like so many will after us. Don't be like them. Don't be like me. Be stronger, because I know you can. "You're going to be late."

Germany, finally, reached out and turned the knob of the door. "You have someone coming?"

"Yes. Swear." His brother pulled the door open.

"And you will call me?"

"Ja." He stepped a foot through.

"And you're sure you're okay?"

"Go!" He stepped the other foot out and began to pull on the opposite side of the knob. Before he let the door close fully, he said one phrase he hadn't said in a long time. Honestly, said is a bit of an overstatement, he more so whispered it, but that failed to stop Prussia from hearing.

" _Ich hab' dich lieb._ " A familial 'I love you'; a simple notion the eldest brother thought to be tragically dead in the eyes of his younger companion. The door squeaked closed. The Teutonic Knights, the empire of Prussia, the sector of Germany, the pitiful, albino now alone in the world and weak in his body found himself laughing blissfully as he pulled out his phone. He'd gone into it to check his messages, but before he even could the doorbell rang, and he looked up and through the glass on either side of the door. A grouchy man stood dressed in dark blue skinny jeans, a brown blazer, and a graphic shirt that said something catchy in Italian - or was that Spanish? He opened it.

"Hey, Roma." All things considered, Romano was the perfect person to call. They had been quietly helping each other since they found out both were weak. Prussia was the one who discovered band aids made even the smallest and most ridiculous of wounds stop stinging. Romano had studied makeup, so that if there was a scar or cut on a place they couldn't easily cover with clothing, they had other means. Prussia both kept Italy away and nursed Romano to health when he sprained his ankle and had to wear and obvious brace. Romano cleaned the dirt, blood, and debris off of Prussia when he was too weak to do it himself after having fallen out of a tree. If ever they got sad, they thought of each other. If anything went wrong, they called on one another. They both quietly loved having someone who understood, and sometimes even just seeing the other in passing or being in their quiet presence was enough to set their nervous stomachs at ease.

"I told you not to call me that," his tone was peppered with it's usual distaste, but he dare not spit any insults. Not at this person. Especially not right now.

"Whatever. So, you will be pleased to hear the awesome me took the time out of my awesome day to watch that tella novella you were freaking about."

"I was not freaking," Romano commented, stepping over the threshold of the door-frame, "and if you say awesome one more time I'm going to strangle you. What episode are you on?"

"Season 2, episode 13."

"So am I and I've been watching for a month, not a week."

"It's really good, man. I just had to marathon!"

"Put it on then." And put it on he did. The two sat side by side, at times even leaning on each other, sharing chips, salsa, beers, and an ordered pizza prepared for an all night long viewing of _El Amor en la Ciudad_.

* * *

Everyone thinks themselves invincible until their last moment comes. Until they breathe their last breath, the determination found in a human keeps them hopeful, keeps them waiting to be saved, keeps them waiting for their next day. Germany wondered then if he and his brother could be considered human. He had no hope, he had no faith to fall back on, he had no one to support him; he had nothing but fear. In 1618, Prussia lost his union with Brandenburg and instead prevailed as a kingdom. In 1918, the kingdom was gone, but his brother lived on as a free state. In 1934, Germany finally understood what it meant to be at his boss' control. He could connect with a story China had told him of how he was burned alive 30 times as punishment for trying to kill his leader. 'How could he ever do that?' he had originally thought. Some of his bosses had been more friendly than others, sure, but he could never, till that moment, see himself hating one of them enough to try to end their life. Never until that god-forsaken man,Adolph with all his talk of reformation and glory, stripped his brother's land of its independence and weakened him further. However, despite it all, Prussia lived on. He always prevailed, he always came out on top, and Germany thought him invincible.

Until now. Until the 25th of February, until a cloudy day in 1947, until the words "abolition" and "disillusion" were thrown around the room like candy. Fear and disgust rolled around in his throat as he was forced to stand in that crowded office in Berlin. Several men crowded around a mahogany desk reading over a document together. They wanted to make sure that the nails they were planning to place in his brother's coffin would stay down this time. For each of pair of nameless, shameless humans stood a nation personification. England, America, Russia, China, and France all stood side by side on one end of the room with him, awkwardly. No country wanted to see another fall, no matter what it would mean for their own. Germany knew deep down that they had all plead with their bosses, had all tried to get them to find another solution, but he couldn't help but feel repulsed by their faces. How dare they step a single foot into _his_ country and threaten _his_ brother's life. _How dare they_ just stand there like that, and France most of all, as if he wasn't once Prussia's dear _friend_. He mentally cursed them, cursed them all to deep, dark corner in the the flames of Hell. He wished-

A flicking sound rang through the room and the German man's head snapped to the desk. A diplomat stepped away from it, handing a gold and matte, black pen to the next man in line. He leaned over the desk, most of his weight on one leg, and pressed the pen to the paper letting it glide up and down left and right. His signature. He wondered if they felt any guilt at all, or if they could smell the blood of his poor brother on their hands. The flick rang again as the pen sharply left the paper and was handed off to the next man. He suddenly felt a hand on his arm and realized he was shaking. A rage built up in his body. Who had so much audacity to even _look_ in his direction, better yet touch him right now? Italy wasn't in the room. Japan was dealing with crisis of his own. His brother was at home. The rest of his Germanic family was off mourning. So who had the gall to try to support him right now as if this whole thing wasn't their fault? The grip tightened and his scowl adjusted to his left to find a pale, French hand attempting to calm him. _Attempting_. Germany turned his head back to the desk and whispered towards France, his tone lined with daggers.

"Don't _touch me._ "

Flick. Then pen left the paper yet again.

All these, people, every last one of them in the room, nothing more than murderers in his eyes.

Flick.

Not that Prussia was going to die. He...he would be alright. He would prevail! Just like he always did. He would be alright. Germany touched a hand to his pocket where his phone was resting. Had it vibrated without him noticing? Did Prussia need him and was he here in this room, doting like an idiot?

Flick.

No, surely not. Prussia was stronger than that. He had to be. The only weak ones where his fellow countries, who had the power somewhere in them to stop this from happening, and selfishly chose not to. Rage. Disgust. Fear. Denial. It was all Germany knew and all he could feel standing in that room as flick after flick of the verdammt wrist signed his brother into oblivion. Curse them all.

Flick.

* * *

Prussia and Romano sat together, their legs sharing a blanket and propped up on a glass coffee table, their bodies leaned on the other for support, food splayed out atop them. In Romano's hand rested the bag of chips, salsa to match was in Prussia's lap. One would reach over the other, chip meeting salsa and crunching away as they listened to the screams of rage and passion from the television.

"Kill her."

"No!" Prussia cried with a laugh, "Don't kill her, Lacey!"

"Kill. That. _Puta!_ " The two went back and forth, arguing over whether or not Lacey should kill Rosalie, until she slid a dagger into her sister's stomach.

"That's what you get! You don't steal Lacey's man!"

" _Mien gott_ , why is she so crazy?" They laughed.

 **Flick.** It thundered through Prussia's head, sounding so loud to him he was sure the entire country could've heard it. The sound of the last line being drawn with the last dots of ink in the last signature on the sheet of parchment vowing to dissolve him. He clutched his head with one hand and his chest with the other as his heart _burned_. He leaned forward and moaned, beginning to wheeze, not noticing the salsa bowl tumble off of his thighs and crash to the ground. He gasped for air and none came. He tried to speak and his voice died.

"Hey, Prussia are you okay?" Romano set a hand on his shoulder and felt a tremor of panic sweep his chest. _No, Romano. Stay calm. You swore you would help; you can't do this_. The albino fell into a fit of gasps. _He can't breathe, oh God he can't breathe!_ His gasps faded to rough, course coughs.

"Prussia?!" With one more cough, blood splattered across the entire coffee table and made it so far as the wall.

"PRUSSIA!" He continued to cough and wheeze, clutching his chest, and spurt after spurt of blood left his mouth. The heat in the albino's chest intensified, it seemed to set him ablaze, burning through his skin, muscle, bones, and soul. Tears pricked his eyes at the pain. He was unsure of if he fell to the ground or if he had started there, and he could hear someone gasping and coughing, but couldn't process that it was him. All he knew was pain.

 _Oh no, oh no, oh no ohnoohnoohno._ Romano grabbed his face and shook him, begging for a response.

"Prussia?!" He slapped at the paper-white cheek now dotted with blood splatters.

"Hey! Come ON! PRUSSIA!"

Recognition and desperation flashed in the maroon eyes. Prussia. That was his name was it not? He raised a shaking hand and felt fabric. A shirt. It was soft. It was familiar, but it didn't stop the burning. His chest convulsed with a mixture of coughs and gasps. He felt a wetness on his chin.

"Don't do this, Prussia!" His eyes locked with red sunken ones for just a moment as they struggled to stay open. The fallen nation's eyes tried to focus on a tan man before him. He knew him. His name was R...Ro...Rome? When had they last seen each other? A day ago? A year? They ate something spicy together. His vision blurred and the pain faded to numb.

"PRUSSIA! PLEASE!" Romano felt hot tears lining his eyes. _No! No this can't be happening! He was fine! What changed? What happened? What did he do?!_ Prussia's voice in the form of a flashback hit him. 'If anything happens, handle it. Do NOT call Germany.' Don't call Germany? Was the man crazy? What else was he supposed to do? He didn't know how to save him, he couldn't-

Red eyes began to roll to the back of the man's head as it lulled and slumped away from him.

"PRUSSIA!" _DON'T DIE ON ME RIGHT NOW!_

There it was again, that name. The albino was sure he heard it but it was distant, faint, barely an echo in the back of his skull. Maybe it was a mistake? His vision faded to black. A mistake, it must of been. His ears clogged and heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing. All the pain stopped, finally, and he let his consciousness escape him.

The man fell limp. Romano screamed. He cried out in horror, he burst into weeping, and he wretched on the carpet.

When the sirens of an ambulance finally came, he was still screaming, tears beading down his face as he held his friend who was covered in his own, crimson blood. Romano wailed.

* * *

Okay, so I want to leave this on a cliffhanger but considering the nature of this story, I feel it's only necessary that I say **Prussia is not dead** and he is not going to die yet. Also, I feel it a little cruel to leave this on a cliffhanger, considering this news. School is about to start back up where I live. It's going to be senior year for me, so I expect stress. **While I will continue this story, updates will most likely be fewer and farther between.** Mein apologies. But anyhowdy, I hope you liked this chapter. I really don't have much to say now and didn't even have a starting author's note like I usually do, it just is what it is.

I just want to stop and say right quick that **I love you all for reviewing.** Currently, for every thousand words I've typed I have a review, and then one more for good flavor. That makes me feel awesome that y'all are enjoying this that much and I hope to read more from you all. Glad I can touch your feels with my crappy writing :)

If anyone knows where I got the "he was still screaming" bit from, tell me in the reviews. You know how they say writers read? Well I read something similar-ish to that in a book I love and adapted it for this story. Hopefully it was good. Okay, bye. Thanks for reading!

 _ **Edit:**_ Have to thank Marvelite5Ever for the German translation tip :)


	6. Guilt

Okay, so I am now on my **fourth re-write of this chapter.** Yes. My FOURTH. The first couple times I wrote this it just did not seem GOOD enough. I don't need every chapter to blast your feels to infinity and beyond, but the first couple writes were just so bad! Like I couldn't keep them in here they were just so bad.

According to my plan for this story, this is the second to last chapter. According to how this story ended up writing itself, this is not even close to the end. I predict this tale will have 15 chapters (that's really just a random guess). So, anyways, since I'm diverging from the original plan, **I've run out of song lyrics to title the chapters with. Until I get back in line with my original plan for this story, I'm going to use something random as chapter titles. Here, I've chosen a re-occurring emotion** in the chapter. Sorry about that but I need this story to be longer than I'd planned for it to make sense and have proper resolution. Anyways, let me write this chapter right quick...

BTdubs, I have to thank **Marvelite5Ever** for the idea to have Germany react like this. He/she is really just so right that I had to throw it in. I just don't know if I'm doing this complex idea any justice. *nervous sweat*

* * *

 _ **Guilt**_

* * *

Germany, currently stuck at the mercy of a traffic light that tended to stay on red for far longer than it need to, banged on his steering wheel impatiently as if the action would force the light to change color and the two cars in front of him to vanish. He leaned back and let his stiff shoulders sink into the leather of his seat. With a sigh, the man allowed himself to calm. He had felt like his body was lit ablaze the entire way home, but soon all would be well. He would walk inside and find Prussia lounging about someplace, or perhaps feeding his bird, and the day would continue on like any other. There was no reason to worry. No reason to fret. No reason to be so angry. He let the sounds of the radio drown away the seemingly endless amounts of stress that had been previously resting on his shoulders. The bright, red light cast a shadow of a passing bird as it flew across the road. The sun beat down on his skin, offering him an irresistible warmth. Yes. There was no reason to be drawn so tight. He would be home soon, and his brother would be fine. And after all...

The German man shot up from his slightly reclined seat, eyes wide, and gripped the steering wheel. There was a honk. The light had turned. With a quick activation of his blinker, the man swapped lanes and pulled a U-turn around a median. No. No. _No!_ He had not just thought that had he? An all too familiar feeling bubbled up in his stomach. He drove past a stop sign without realizing and began to tense all over again, shaking his head in disbelief and disgust. He had not just thought that, there was no way. His car turned onto autobahn and his foot slammed into the gas pedal. _'It makes sense'_ his mind told him and he began to bob and weave between cars going all too slow. _'There's no point in lying to yourself'._ He had half a mind to wonder how many laws he had broken in these few seconds of barreling down the road at near 200kmp before the forbidden thought crossed his mind again and he forced himself to slow down. The previously bubbling feeling now began to boil over and spill out as the blond broke into a sweat with trembling hands.

He knew this feeling. He knew these thoughts. He hadn't been plagued with them in so long. He hadn't allowed himself to think something so heinous since the blitz in England. He hadn't felt this feeling so intensely since the German unification. Guilt. It ate at him, threatening to break through his skin and devour him alive. It embodied him as a monster, a hideous abomination with rasor-sharp teeth, a hair-covered body, and malicious intent. The man's car made its way to the side of the road and he pressed the triangular button to turn on his hazard lights before plopping back into his seat. It really did make sense. It wasn't such a bad thing that he had thought. He knew it, and his brain knew it, and no matter how much he and his guilt tried to fight it, it was true. Prussia's time had come. The sanctum that was Prussia was hardly even in Germany anymore - mostly being contained in Poland - was lightly populated, and no one really cared about it. It sort of didn't make a difference whether or not Prussia was part of Germany. _His dissolving made sense._

Germany reclined his seat as far as it would go and closed his eyes. Germany bombing England during a war was a strategic move. All of young Germany's friends and family collapsing their land over to him was the best blessing he ever got. As far as his country went, his land, his people's happiness, his own chance of survival went, these things were perfect. But that didn't stop the monster that is guilt from manifesting inside him. The horror on England's face as his capital crumbled, the warm, last hug he had received from a shaking Saxony, and now the slow deterioration of his brother's health were all stopping him from basking in his "glory".

"Gott..." he mumbled under a heavy breath, raising a hand to rub his cheek. His only goal in this time was, whether or not liked it or wanted to accept it, to stay alive. America and Russia's bosses seemed to hold all their power over him, and at any moment, they could swipe his country from the map and toss him out of existence without a second thought. Honestly, without Prussia around, chances for prosperity where higher. If his government just heeled over and did what they were told, he could've made it out of this in another couple decades generally unaffected, and in this case, that included letting Prussia go. Half of Germany was happy. Happy it was just Prussia being let go and not Hamburg, or, Gott forbid, Berlin. It really was time. Prussia needed to...

He slapped himself in the face - _hard_ \- before sitting back up. Slowly, his seat elevated to join him, he clicked off his hazard lights, pulled back out onto the road, and drove to nowhere in particular. How could he just lie there and even muse these thoughts of treason against his bruder? He needed to think, he needed to breathe. He checked his phone again, careful to occasionally glance back at the road, just to be sure. No calls, no voice messages, not so much as a text. He sighed, set his phone into a cup holder, and gripped the wheel, driving a little faster. He needed to think. At least Prussia, his brother, would be okay while he did so.

* * *

The room was musty, with recycled air from coughs, sneezes, and wheezing attacks from weeks ago. It smelled like the clothes you kept in the drawer too long that come out seeming to be covered in a layer of grime. Everything was white, and florescent lights turned this white from a nice, crisp color to an overly bright, yet equally dreary coat of blandness. The chairs were unbearably uncomfortable and germ-covered and, good God, the room was small; far too small.

Romano rested both elbows on his knees and his temples in his palms. He was panting, shifting positions every so often on a tiny, green, worn, uncomfortable armchair. The floor he was eyeing shifted in and out of focus as ran both hands through his locks and felt himself break into a sudden sweat. His eyes kept open resulted in him being plagued with that brown spot on the otherwise blue carpet, the people in the room coughing, moaning, praying, and the man in the corner quietly crying. He couldn't close them either, because then off the back of his eyelids images of an albino man vomiting a pint of blood bounced about. He saw red eyes rolling to the back of their head, the feel of the lifeless form in Romano's arms, it felt so real, as if it were happening all over again. He pants turned to groans as he doubled over, clenching his churning stomach.

He was scared. The man wanted to burst into tears, and considering he was sitting in an E.R. waiting room, he doubted anyone would judge him too harshly. _What if Prush-douche doesn't wake up? What if the doctors can't help him? What if not having land any more really did mean he was done, that it was his time to die? How had it all happened so quickly?_ _What if I could've done... **something** to help and I hadn't?_ He looked at his hands and willed them not to shake. _What if I'm next?_

Half the man's thoughts wouldn't even form, he dare not let them. They were too scary, too possible, too _real_. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and began to flap the collar of his shirt about hoping to whip some wind onto his overheating body. It really was so hot in that tiny ro-

"Left wing! The only available rooms are in the LEFT WING!" A feminine voice called out from not too far down the hall. The presumed woman, dressed in light green scrubs, hideous white shoes, and a surgical masked pushed along a wheeled stretcher with two men running along, pushing as well. In the few seconds the triad spent pushing the patient through the waiting room, Romano caught a sight of a little boy on the stretcher. He really was just a child, no older than ten or twelve, and he had dusty blonde hair. His skin was not only pale, but greening a bit. An oxygen mask, similar to the one an unconscious Prussia was given, rested on his face. The horrid part was the child's torso. It was marred, bloody, and confusing with flaps of skin and muscle sticking up and out in all directions. Were Romano standing, he would have been able to see the rest of the bit of the child's ribcage that was revealed. His form was limp, and were it not for the team trying so hard to help him, anyone would've just assumed that in that awful condition, the boy was already dead.

Romano furrowed his eyebrows and bile built up in his throat. He stood, took a step, sat back down, shook his wrists, and pulled both hands to his face. His skin was burning. The fear in him ran a cold shiver down his spine. Prussia needed help, and Romano couldn't be the one to supply it. The hospital workers refused to tell him much of anything other than to call for a family member or emergency contact. _Wh-What if he needs a blood donor and I don't match his type? What if-_

No. He couldn't take any more "what if's". The man shifted in his seat to allow access to his back pocket and whipped out a black smartphone. Prussia needed help. He unlocked the phone and cringed as it dinged. He set his phone to silent, quickly, and pressed the icon for his contacts. Prussia needed someone else's help. He scrolled through the named list, passing A's, B's, the few C's. Prussia needed someone else's help _now._ And suddenly, he froze, and all of his will-power escaped him. The highlit name in the middle of the screen, Fratello, made his activity halt. He sighed.

His promise not to call Germany rang in the back of his head as he recalled why again the albino didn't want his brother to know. Italy was always so happy, and at times his unwavering smile was extremely irritating to his grumpy, elder brother, but it was part of who he was. Over the years, Romano had come to secretly like it. It was the one constant with his bubbly brother; his joy. He couldn't be the one to take that from him, or do something that would so much suggest it. He couldn't tell his little brother his fears, or about his wobbly position in existence, because he knew, that smile would be wiped clean from his face. Had he been the one to be thrown into an ambulance, and had Prussia called Italy, Romano just couldn't stand the thought of his brother's expression. It wasn't like he had never seen the little idiot cry before, it's just, his tears were rarely attached to a deep emotion. The few times he had seen is brother actually cry, from actual emotional trauma, he couldn't comfort him, or quiet him, or know what to say or do. He just felt his heart wrench. He couldn't cause that, he couldn't do that to Italy.

And he couldn't let Prussia do that to Germany.

But, his friend, one of his only friends, needed help. He was the only one who knew it. He was the only one who could do anything. If it were Fratello, he would help no matter what. If Spain, the dumbass that he is had gotten himself into trouble, he would help no matter what. So now? He had to help. No matter what.

And thus, he scrolled down a bit further through the names on his phone.

He hovered over the one he was looking for.

And pressed the green button to call, feeling an internal monster eat at him.

* * *

Who was he to tell himself he should be guilty? Countries fell every day. Borders were changed, new leaders reigned, names were altered, nothing was for sure. So what if Germany's country had fallen victim to a bit of alteration? It wasn't _his_ fault his people were suffering after World War 1. It wasn't _his_ fault the leader they'd so confidently elected went insane. It wasn't _his_ fault the allies were so opposed to him expanding his borders. _It. Was. Not. His. Verdamt. Fault._ That Prussia's land had to go. It was fine.

Because his bruder was fine. Clearly, history, or the future, had some kind of plans for him. Prussia was no more, but it didn't need to exist anymore. _He_ did. _It_ didn't. It wasn't Germany's fault - he'd done nothing wrong and there was nothing he could do. Nein, there was nothing he'd want to do because it truly was better this way. At least, that's what he told himself as his car barreled down the road at sunset.

* * *

Hungary found herself a fair bit creeped out by how uncharacteristically Romano was acting. First, there was the phone call.

"Hello, Elizabeth?"

"Uhm, yes Lovino?"

"C-Can-Could you, uhm, come to Wilmersdorfer Strasse 52 in Berlin?" Could she? Of course she could but she was fairly certain Romano didn't even know what asking for something was like. She figured all he knew how to do was be pouty and demand things, and, wait...

"Isn't that a hospital?"

"Yes."

"Why are you in a hospital, Lovino?" That had explained why he called her by human name when she answered the phone. Maybe that's also why he was being so...cordial for once, or so she thought.

"Pru- uh, Gilbert had an episode."

"An episode?"

"...Could you just come?!" It was snappy, as per usual, but still asking instead of demanding. With hesitation, she agreed. On her drive to said hospital, she wondered how exactly Prussia had managed to not only get himself into so much trouble he ended up in a hospital, but how he had gotten Romano, an otherwise disagreeable country, to do the idiotic stunt with him. The second thing that set the woman off was Romano's reaction to her walking into the hospital. She had made her way to a fairly large waiting room with white walls, green and blue chairs, and blue carpeting. Romano was hunched over in an armchair, rocking back and forth on his heels, clutching his stomach as if in pain. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. The man jumped, stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, before a touch of color returned to his cheeks and he _smiled_.

"Elizabeth! Did you speak with the receptionist?"

"Yes. She told me a nurse would be out soon to explain the situation to me."

"Oh, well that's good. It's nice that Gilbert put you as his emergency contact, it's really such a life-saver."

"Uhm..." he was still smiling, "Yes. Very nice Lovino." The third thing was what made her look at the man in disbelief, her face twisting in confusion, and she even pondered if perhaps she was dealing with Italy in disguise. 'Romano' actually got up from his seat, gestured to it, and offered it up to Hungary. He had done something gentlemanly to someone _other_ than a beautiful Italian woman, and without so much as a push from someone else to do so. She also realized then, that he had yet to call her Skillet or in all the time she'd been there. Was he really alright? Was he even sane?!

"R-Lovino, what happened?" There was a silence settling between the two once she asked that as the smile faded to a frown. A non-grumpy frown at that, a genuinely sad one.

"The doctors wouldn't tell me anything because Gil and I aren't related," he said.

Gil?

"So, why didn't you call Ludwig?" She half said it to give him ammunition, expecting an outburst about how he would never voluntarily talk to that 'Potato Bastard', but all she got was a shake of the head.

"Gilbert doesn't want him here. I tried to call, but couldn't make myself."

"Why doesn't he want him here?" The man was silent. Hungary grabbed him by his shoulders and shook lightly until his averted gaze returned to her eyes. "Lovino, what happened?" What was said next made the woman forget herself. Forget where she was. Forget what she was doing. Forget how mad she had gotten at Prussia for doing something she presumed was so dumb that he ended up wasting doctors' and nurses' time at the E.R.. It made her remember how very little she was paying attention to German politics and made her recall how she wanted to visit Germany and Prussia, but had yet to find the time. It made her forget to blink, forget to breathe, and made her sick to her stomach. She felt as if she were standing in a dark room, the only light being used to cast a shadow of a beast on her fearful face, the living-horror creeping up slowly, preparing to devour her. Romano pulled her in gently by the arm and whispered into her ear, as to avoid the lingering eavesdropping from the other non-countries in the room.

"Prussia's land was dissolved earlier today."

* * *

So, this is STILL not that good. I could honestly go on and have a couple more sections but the chapter is getting lengthy. And after 4 attempts I'm just going to say the concepts in this chapter are odd and I can't do it. The next one I feel I have a much better grasp on but we'll see when I start writing it. Also, as you can see, this story is slowing down. This chapter, the last, and the next one or two where all supposed to be one chapter but I just got so detailed it dragged on. I don't mind this being a little long, I'm just saying. It's different than planned so don't expect much from me. I feel like I should apologize for the lateness but I've been re-writing, I never had a schedule in the first place, and you guys were warned so...sorry not sorry-ish.

 **Some explanation.** First, Romano, when interacting with Hungary, is being very polite (or well, polite for him). This is to me because he's so drained and spent from worry that seeing someone who can help lifts him right up in relief. Is that...apparent? Second, I don't know why but fanonly it's become relevant for the countries to call each other by human name. It's used as like a sign of family-ness or close friendship, and that's a cute idea and all, but my headcannon does not buy into it. I'd imagine it can't work, because, every so often they'd have to change their human name to throw off historians (or so I figured), and in my head there's not a lot of Humans who know about the countries. Their bosses, their bosses families, and some elite people in the military and government, sure, but not your everyday citizen. To me, the purpose of the human names is to deter people from knowing about the nations (think about it, don't you think they'd be famous or infamous or blamed for war if everyone knew they existed? Hints all the fanfics about disaster after they get exposed), so they seem like irrelevant titles to me only used when around humans not in-the-know, i.e., the people in the hospital. This is why Romano is called Lovino, Prussia called Gilbert, Germany called Ludwig, and Hungary called Elizabeth. Next, I don't know if I'm taking Germany's reaction on properly. Like half of him is supposed to be Germany the country/representation of his people who doesn't give a shadangle if Prussia leaves. It'd be like if in America we renamed Billings, Montana. NO ONE WOULD CARE. But if Billings was a personification, America would get attached to him/her. The same way Germany the person is attached to Prussia. So like he knows he doesn't really care, but he knows that the situation could lead to Prussia fading away, so then he gets all bothered, but he doesn't want to think about that so he dismisses it. Like...you feel me? Finally, guilt is personified here as a monster (so mosterified?) and is felt by Hungary, Romano, and Germany alike. Did...did you...did you get that or am I reaching?

 **Question:** Yea, I'm going to let you guys decide what happens next. **Should Germany ever find out about Prussia's hospital visit?** Either way, Germany is not going to confront Prussia, so don't expect the brotherly fluff (yet), it's just, should he find out? Lemme know in reviews. As always...

 **Review, Review, Review!** They make me happy and y'all are some smart cookies with good suggestions. Alright, bye bye for now :D


	7. Road to Recovery

**So it's been four weeks since I updated. School kicked my ass y'all, I'm sorry. I'm already stressed...no, I'm not stressed. I refused to be stressed again! I just...have a lot to take care of. Yea. That's all. Anyways, I'm finding little snippets of time between homework, college applications, club meetings, work, my internship, and just relaxing to maintain my sanity to come in and write. I hope that that's not too bad for you guys as far as waiting goes. I'll try to lessen it but no promises will be made.**

 **So I found out Prussia and Romano is an actual thing. A ship called prumano. I only see them as friends, but it makes me happy that other people see them getting along for this reason. Romano has taken a bigger role in this story than I planned for him to, but I'm not complaining, and hopefully none of you are either. So in this and the next chapter, I will be writing Spain. I don't want him to be stupid, something people tend to do with him. Oblivious or kind of ditsy, okay, but he's got to have a brain. Excuse me if I seem OOC with him, I just can't make him an idiot, he's a nation personification. They can't possibly be stupid.**

 **HUNGARY'S HUMAN NAME IS ELIZABETA, NOT ELIZABETH! WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?!**

* * *

 _ **Road to Recovery**_

* * *

"Mrs. Hedervery?"

"Yes?!" Hungary hopped up from a green, stuffy chair next to Romano's that she had been waiting impatiently in for the past hour and a half. By now the sun had set, it was nine or ten at night, the duo was getting hungry, but they remained far too high in their own thoughts and fears to notice, and one of the two was starting to lose hope.

"A Mr. Beilschmidt has regained consciousness. If you would like to see him he can take one guest at a time in room 44C. It'll be the last door on the left." The nurse, a chubby woman in graying scrubs, hobbled off down the hall and left Hedervary and who she assumed was her tan, gorgeous husband to discuss. The two simply looked at each other.

"You can go," Romano stated, slouching a bit farther in his seat. Were it not for the tone in his voice, one could have easily mistaken his nervousness for being kind. Hungary, who wanted to take the opportunity before the man changed his mind, immediately grabbed off the couch a small bag she had come with, and began her trek down the hall. The main floors of the hospital were marble instead of carpet, left blood-stain free, and made a small thudding noise as the woman's shoes edged towards last room. A dim light was shown passing through a rectangular, plexi-glass window on the door. She stood in front of it for a moment, trying to calm her breathing, and then pushed the door open.

A man lie on a single, tiny bed near the center of the otherwise completely white and bare room. His skin was unrealistically pale, white as paint on the walls, with blue veins and spots of green and red making their way to an unsightly surface. He lie on his back with both arms at his sides, the one Hungary could see appeared to be thinning with the outline of his bones near his wrist covered just barely by skin. Just as quickly as nations could heal, a paper cut vanishing in seconds, they could deteriorate, a man at his prime aging to dust. She began to hate that fact as she took a step closer; the woman noticed his lips were a pale blue, and his eyes remained shut. What would have once been silver eyelashes were now grey and dull, and what would have once been hair as lively as its owner slopped out on the pillow and looked a mess. She reached a hand out only to stop halfway near the man's shoulder. He looked so delicate, as if a faint touch could shatter him. Hungary let herself me comforted by the gentle whirr of machines and the soft beeps of a heart monitor until she found her gall and spoke, softly, for fear the wind from her breath would blow him away.

"Prussia?"

Burgundy eyes opened about half way and the ex-country in question turned his head slowly, to a minute degree, and looked at her. When their eyes met there was a moment of confusion, followed by shock, and finally, a light smile graced the man's blistered lips.

"Hungary," he lifted his arm and gestured with what looked like all his strength to a chair near the bed, "sit." He coughed after speaking two simple words. Hungary did as she was told, pulled the chair in so it'd be facing his bedside, and took rest in it. The two stayed still for a moment, Prussia with a weak smile on his face and Hungary with a sorrowful expression leaning into his bed.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked.

"Ye-" his voice was horse. He paused to cough again, a pain radiating through his head and throat as he did so, and spoke again. "Yes. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He smiled further in response. He felt the gentlest of touches against his forehead and let his eyes lull closed to the sensation.

"Prussia, you're freezing cold. Do you know what happened to you?" He raised an eyebrow in lui of speaking. "Internal bleeding, lung damage, you went into cardiac arrest, stopped breathing, not to mention the random external wounds...Prussia you almost nearly died." He opened his eyes and thought something about 'mein awesome' and it not being possible for him to die, but preferred not to try to speak. Hungary removed her hand from his forehead, dusting some hair out of his face before doing so, and returned it to her side. She sighed, leaned back, and watched the usually boisterous and slightly annoying country before her lie near motionless in horrid condition. The corners of her frown began to tremble.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" He shook his head all too slowly.

"I know you said you had suspicions but, you never...told me..." He seemed to smile and frown at the same time.

"Prussia..." Tears came to the edge of her eyes all at once and blurred any vision she could have had, turning the albino friend and his mattress into a mesh of white and red. She couldn't even be bothered to blink them back, and stared at her blobby hands as tears slipped off her eyelashes and onto them. "You didn't tell me it was this bad."

Hungary remembered the last time she had openly cried in front of Prussia; they appeared to be teenagers or older children then, and Hungary had, at Austria's request, worn her first dress. She stood before Prussia, in a predominately yellow outfit with her hair in a bun and shoes freshly polished feeling pathetic. He laughed, nudged her on the shoulder, said "very lady-like," and kissed her hand in a sweeping gesture. Hungary promptly burst into tears. At the time, she wanted nothing more than to be a man; men were powerful, men owned property, men worked in the government, men were fighters, men had nothing holding them back. Women were belittled, unappreciated, and abused. Women couldn't fight. Women couldn't lead. Women couldn't do what she, as a country, needed to do. The albino paused his mocking, looked at her pitifully, and then slapped her across the face hard enough to leave a red, burning mark. Hungary beat him down with a tear-induced fury and continued to bash her pan into the side of his head until both burst into crying laughter.

Similarly from then to now, he knew her well enough to know exactly what to do.

"Lay with me," he said, reaching a shaking arm out to cup her cheek. The woman again, did as she was told, and climbed over Prussia into the unclaimed right half of his twin bed. He rolled into her, and wrapped an arm over her head. She struggled to keep quiet, and keep from shaking too much or falling apart right then and there.

"I-"

"I know," the albino replied, running a hand through half the length of her hair, as that's all he could manage.

"No," she said, trying to steady her voice between sobs, "no you don't. I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I didn't want to believe you whe-"

"I know."

"But what if you had died and I hadn-"

"I didn't." He shushed her and began to rock lightly, back and forth, trying to will her to calm. "I'm okay. It's okay, Hungary." He left it at those words, and continued to rock in silence until her shoulders stopped shaking. Embarrassed, the woman sat up, red-faced, and wiped the last droplets from her face. She sniffled as she climbed off the bed and made her way around it, back to her chair.

Much went unsaid. No one ever said how scared Hungary was that she had lost him without a chance for a proper goodbye. No one pointed out how she felt horribly guilty for nearly forgetting he was even around, better yet caring for his well-being. No one talked about how after a couple months from his confession, Hungary just assumed Prussia would remain invincible. Prussia didn't need to tell her he was sorry for making her worry. He didn't need to say he knew she cared for him and didn't need constant reassurance. He'd found no reason to vocalize his hidden content with her even just come to see him. The two simply looked at each other, and all was made clear, all that they didn't have to courage to say was out in the air for both to grab.

"You're an ugly cryer."

"Would you like me to add more injury to your medical chart?" she asked, rolling up a sleeve and shaking her fist. The Teutonic Nights let out an amused sigh-laugh and a veil of normalcy lowered over the two as they bantered back and forth like always. She helped him sip some water, and the more he had the more he could speak. In a burst of re-gained strength, he even went so far as to push himself up and sit leaning against his pillows. There was a sudden knock at the door, and at Hungary's approval, Romano walked in.

"I thought they said one at a time?"

"Yea, well you were taking all year. You two caught up yet or did I interrupt a disgusting make-out session?"

"Actually, South, if you could give us another minute," Prussia joked, which was met by a gentle slap to the stomach by his female companion.

"Should I go then?" Hungary remarked, standing.

"No, no point. We got to get this one home anyways."

"Guys wait, no," the Prussian interjected, gesturing to himself, "I'm not up to my full awesome yet. I look pretty...well, bad, and if we go back West will know something happened."

"Why are you avoiding him?" the woman in the room asked. The two boys looked at each other, locked gazes in a mutual understanding, and ignored the question.

"Either way, you're being let out of the hospital. You can't stay here and you can't go home, so do you have any ideas, genius?" Romano snapped.

"You can come stay with Austria and I."

"No, Germany would probably go over there at some point," the Prussian sighed, mentally ruling out Japan, Italy, Romano, and Switzerland's as places he could stay "it's kinda sucking right now that we're friends with all the same people." The three stayed silent for a moment in thought, and it was the Italian who got the first idea.

"Aren't you friends with Tomato Bastard?"

"Oh yes," Hungary cried, clapping her hands together. "Germany rarely ever needs to talk with Spain, that'll be perfect! Do you really think he can handle someone in this condition by himself though?" Before his mind could object and stop him from speaking, Romano replied with:

"Well he always took good care of me." The sideways glance he received from Prussia made the man's cheeks heat up with realization. "The idiot will probably need help though, he is clueless."

"As much as I hate to bring him into this...well into anything," Hungary started, looking back and forth between the boys and trying to stifle her laughter from Romano's flustered expression, "isn't France a mutual friend of you two's?" At that moment, a nurse entered the room with a cheery smile and a wheelchair. She shifted it up to the side of Prussia's bed, acknowledge everyone in the room, and saw herself out.

"Okay, call it a plan then," Prussia said, leaning forward trying to shift himself out of the bed. Romano jumped to his side and grabbed him under his arm, lifting his weight off the bed and half-carrying him a step to the wheelchair. He felt like skin and bones in the man's hands. His muscle had seemed to deflate with the blood loss and all of his skin was deathly cold. He had recovered a bit already since his initial greeting of Hungary, but was still bent far out of shape. The excursion to the wheelchair seemed to drain him and he leaned into it with all his weight, sighing. As he did so, Romano eyed a strip of blue, a vein snuggling up against his skin, just under his eyebrow on his near pure-white completion.

"You really do look terrible."

"Yea, I have to take his side on this one."

"Danke [Thank you}, Romano, Hungary. Where would my self-confidence be without you?" The two tormentors laughed, before one grabbed the arms of the wheelchair and the other opened the door. They made their way to the lobby to retrieve Prussia's clothes to replace the hospital gown.

* * *

At eleven o'clock at night, Germany pulled into his driveway. He sighed, and sat in the car for all of three minutes before turning it off. The man had given up on making some kind of resolve regarding how he should feel about his brother's land disappearing. After hours of driving, stopping down to eat once or twice, even popping in to talk casually with Italy, and his mind playing tug of war with his emotions, he was just exhausted and decided to go home. Maybe seeing Prussia would clear something up. The albino's phone had died, every call sent the German man straight to voicemail, but he appeared to still be awake as the lights glowed yellow through the house's windows. The bulky, blonde man unbuckled his seat-belt and climbed out of the car, got his bag from the back seat along with a bag of trash he'd yet to toss out, and began to make his way towards the door. Surely, if he could just see Prussia, smiling like an idiot and spouting some of his usual nonsense, the German man would feel some sort of release. A relief from realizing that his reaction was acceptable, was okay, and that Prussia had more to become.

At the sound of jingling keys, three dogs made their way to the front door, tails wagging in triumphant joy. When the door finally opened, they jumped up and playfully attacked their owner, barking and panting in his face.

"Yes, yes, Hallo. Hungry?" Germany made a hand gesture to match his question, and the dogs ran off to sit by the back door. Take that as a yes. _Why didn't Prussia feed them though? He's usually on top of this if I'm not here, and he feeds them when he feeds his bird._ The German man made his way into the kitchen and found a fluffy, yellow chick resting patiently at the edge of it's feeding dish. _Gilbird's gone unfed too? What is he doing?_

"Prussia?!" He called out to a silent house. The man sighed. He went out and didn't even turn off the light in the living room or feed the pets first. The German poured a serving and a half of bird seed into Gilbird's dish and then opened the back door to step onto his house's patio. Each of his three dogs got an equal portion of food, along with some time outside to run and play. Once that was taken care of, he left the kitchen and headed around the other way to turn off the useless light. As he walked down the hall, he couldn't help but notice a horrid smell that was growing worse with each step.

When Germany got to the archway leading to his living room, he froze. The entire room, once tidy with creme colored walls and carpets, was now covered in a layer of red. Blood splashed from the couch, to the table, to the fireplace, to the wall. A few drops had made it to the TV where a Spanish show played on mute. It soaked the lap shade, stained a blanket, and was collecting in a bowl - or rather that was salsa. Salsa coupled with crushed ships, slewn wrappers, and more blood. Murder was the first word to come to the German's mind. Who his brother had managed to murder, he had no idea, bu-

Suddenly something clicked. Why Prussia wasn't returning his calls, why no one else he got into contact with seemed to have seen him that day, why the light was on, why his pets were starved, and why his living room had become a Law and Order set piece. Something happened. A wave of panic overtook the man. _How long ago had this happened? What had he been wasting time doing since then? Where was Prussia? What if...he..._

In his rampant survey of the room, the German found a single, familiar shoe lying on the ground. It was Romano's. He whipped out his phone and called immedatly one of the few numbers he had yet to try that day.

"What do you want?"

"Romano, I..." he tried to fake calmness, "Did you spend the day with mein bruder?" There was an oddly long pause on the other line.

"Yes, Prussia's still with me," the man responded, faking irritation.

"Where are you two?! And what the hell happened to the living room?" He breathed in the stench of decay that had taken rest in his home.

"No, we didn't make a mess. I know what I'm doing, asshole," the Italian retorted, ignoring him entirely.

"ROMANO! This is a horrible mess! And it's blood no less! What are you taking about?!"

"We didn't! Calm your man-tits."

"Romano I don't have time for this! Where are you and Prussia?! Tell me now."

"Fine, Puta. I will head back there and clean up our not-mess. When are you getting home? I don't want to have to see you."

"ROMANO! I AM ALREADY HERE!"

"You won't be headed back home tonight? Perfect. Now I definitely won't have to see your idiot face _when I come over there_." The way he exaggerated the end of the sentence made the German man pause in his frustration. Come over? Surely he hadn't fallen deaf suddenly and knew Germany was already at the house.

"...Are...you coming over to explain this, Romano?"

"Yes. Now I got better stuff to do than talk to you." The line fell silent and the blonde lowered his phone from his ear, half confused and half nervous and impatient.

* * *

"Who was that?"

"Germany. He said he's not going back to the house tonight, but just in case I'm going to go clean up the...situation."

"Alright," Hungary commented, interjecting on the two. The three of them where walking and rolling out of the hospital, making their way to Hungary's car with the wheelchair. They spoke quietly to avoid lingering ears. "I can handle Prussia."

"Does he suspect anything?"

"No. I'm a golden liar. Now go get some rest, don't get raped by France, and don't let Espania's idiot rub off on you." With that bit of 'encouragement' Romano left-stepped and ran in the other direction to hail a cab. Hungary wheeled Prussia up, opened the passenger side door of her vehicle, princess-lifted Prussia into it much to his displeasure, and put the wheelchair in the trunk. The two buckled up and the ride down to Spain was mostly filled with the radio, some horrid, Prussian vocals, and the occasional banter. When they arrived at the Spaniard's gaudy mansion, a bright red Lamborghini belonging to a certain, hysterical Frenchman, had already long since pulled up. The moment he got the call that told him his friend was weak and in need, he broke just about every road law he could and crossed the border in a fraction of his usual time. Hungary maneuvered Prussia back into his wheelchair, wheeled him up to the front door and up the steps, and rang the doorbell. It wasn't even ten seconds later the door burst open, and France, who immediately burst into tears, wrapped his arms around Prussia best he could without moving his wheelchair. Spain, who was a little more clam, took Hungary's information about what bandages to change, what he could and couldn't eat, and for how long he should be in bed during the day. One message in particular didn't come from the hospital, but rather the man in pain himself.

Keep Germany out of this.

* * *

It was uncomfortably quiet. The gentle whirr of a ceiling fan a room over was all the German man could barely make audible in his otherwise silent house. He wondered then what he would look like lest someone walk into his home. He was sitting in his living room, Spanish news playing, but silenced, in a very stiff position with one lip curled over the other, completely unmoving, watching blood dry on his walls. He'd pondered cleaning up the mess as he waited, but figured it best be left as evidence, so Romano couldn't deny anything any further when he arrived. If he arrived. The man moved for the first time in four minutes and awoke his phone to look at the time. 12:13am. It had been four minutes since he last looked at his phone.

He took a non calming breath and refocused his eyes on the slowly darkening blood adjacent himself.

He blinked.

Germany felt it would have been better if the source of this blood were simply an elaborate prank, rather than what he thought it was. If the blood were actually not blood, but red paint, or perhaps ketchup. If this sight where the result of Prussia having murdered several children, even that would have been better than what he was thinking. Or, what he was thinking he would be thinking if he'd let himself think. But he hadn't.

Another blink.

Verdamit that blood was irritating! Every muscle, hair, and fiber of the man's obsessive compulsive cleaning disordered begged to be put to use and get rid of the red, the smell, the stains, the mess, but the man knew he needed every drop to stay where it was. The sheen of crimson needed to be there, and he knew deep down why he wanted it to be there, but he hadn't allowed himself to think about this, and was too busy playing mental tug-of-war to push the issue further. So there the blood remained, for some reason, and there the German man sat, in the center of it, looking insane, and feeling insane.

"Hyaku,...tu..tuuu...tuskumo, uhm, Kyujunana" The man was doing his usual stress-reliving activity of counting. Backwards. Down from 100. In Japanese. "Patience is a virtue" he told himself between numbers, as if doing so would make him suddenly have some.

"Sebun, paitence, six, must be patient, go." Romano appered in the archway, and the two stared at one another in silence for a moment. Germany stood, and opened his mouth to greet Romano in a way he would a govornment official, but caught himself before he got too formal. Was he really that nervous? He sat back down and waited.

"Prussia doesn't know that you know," Romano began, ignoring the blond's falter and taking another step to assert himself in the room. He tried to find a place to look, one that wasn't the German's face but also wasn't blood spattered. It was difficult but he finally settled for a spot on the couch where he'd previously been sitting. A shiver slid down his spine as nasty memories resurfaced.

"Where is he?"

"At Spain's."

"Well then I'll-"

"No," Romano put a hand up, stopping Germany in his tracks, "I talk. Shut up for half a second, Bastard." The other man sighed, but obeyed, as he often found it easier to just give in to what Romano asked of him lest it involved killing himself.

"Look, this is...he..." the Italian paused, having gotten lost in thought after gesturing to and looking at a spot of burgundy on the floor. "I took him to the hospital."

"Wha-"

"YOU KNOW, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS INFORMATION I DON'T HAVE TO SAY IT!" Germany silenced himself and waited for a continuance. He always felt a bit like a spurned child when talking to Romano, having to put up with the man's insults and nonsense to make anything close to progress with him. It would normally result in Germany doing or saying something that left the brunette in tears, but given the occasion, he decided to let it slide. "After doctors patched him up and let him out, Skillet took him to Espania's so he and The Perv Next Door could watch over him. He doesn't want you to know all of this happened to him."

At his pause, Germany assumed it was his turn to speak. "Why?". The other party in the room took a step backwards, beginning to leave as quickly as he came.

"Why do you think, dumbass?! He doesn't want you to worry. So stay quiet about this."

"But, Romano I can't just-"

"Yes the hell you can! Clean up the living room, act like you didn't come home tonight, and as far as you're aware this never happened! What is riling him up going to do?! JUST-" The man paused, and sighed. He'd yet again caught himself yet again caring a bit more about Prussia than he though he should, it's just, with someone in his exact position he couldn't help but vicariously live the same life as him. If that was the case, then Ital- Germany, shouldn't know about this kind of thing. "Just stay quiet."

And at that he made his way out of the house. Germany remained, sitting on his couch, and shifted his attention back to blood on the wall that had dried and begun to crackle. It wasn't Prussia's smile, it wasn't his idiotic banter, and it was not making the pit in the man's stomach, or the painful replay and self-chastisement from his thoughts against his brother earlier in the day disappear. It seemed to highlight them, and belittle him. The man sighed, and decided to finally clean as a way of ignoring his feelings. He prayed nothing had stained.

* * *

 **Okay! There you go! With school this took me a GOD AUFUL long time to write, but I've discovered a method to make the writing process faster, and will hopefully be able to use it. BTT galore in the next chapter! I'm excited to write it, I've been waiting for them :DDD Not sure how good a job I did on Hungary's section, but like, whatever I just don't even anymore. I can't write crying scenes. I just give up.**


	8. Concern and Contentment

I'm kind of feeling like not much has been…like…happening in this story? You know like it's just everyone jumping around their feelings. I am more than cool with the story going in that direction, but, like, **I DO have a plot point coming up. Really. It's not gonna be JUST tears in the next chapter.**

This chapter...mmmm...I don't know how I feel about it. This whole story has been sad sad cry cry sad so I wanted to shake it up, **this is kind of my first time writing not-angst.** I MEAN THERE'S STILL ANGST, NEVER FEAR, but there's moments without it too. **It may be funny...or just like...there? I don't know.** I feel like I kinda pressed fast forward on their relationship, which is needed considering the nature of the story, but like...? Also, this chapter was originally going to have a whole section where Germany visits Italy at his home, but I decided to go without it as it had little purpose, but I still wanted to throw Italy in. Evidently, **this MAY have gotten a little GerIta** (I don't even ship them hard or anything) so I'm sorry if you don't like that. You can totally think of it as plutonic if you want, but, just the way it happened is…questionable.

So you know how a couple chapters ago I kept asking everyone if **Hetaoni** is scary, and everyone said no? Well I was still scared, so I watched an MMD based off of it to prelude, and the first screen had a jump scare of the monster. I immediately closed the tab, but came back to the video weeks later. I watched all of it (yes, the jump scare I KNEW was going to happen did scare me AGAIN) and it broke my heart. Especially China and Germany's lines! BROKE. MY. HEART. So, now, because I am still freaked out about watching it (I will one day guys) I'm reading a fanfic adaptation of it. It's wildly incomplete, as no one has even died by the end, but its giving me a taste of the action. Normally stories don't scare me, but when coupled with the image of the jump scare, well, sleeping wasn't the EASIEST last night. I've had worse but, still.

 **SOMETHING THAT NEEDS TO BE CLARIFIED:** **Prussia does not live with Germany yet** at this point in my story. If I established that he did in an earlier chapter, please let me know, because I do not want him to have moved in yet. Come over a lot and have Germany kind of watch over him, sure, but not move fully in!

* * *

 _ **Concern and Contentment**_

* * *

A short while after entering Spain's house, the Spaniard and Frenchman stopped coddling him. Spain made his way to the bathroom and spare bedrooms to rearrange some things for his guests, and France took to a side office to finish the last bit of his nightly paperwork for his boss the next morning.

Prussia remembered doing paperwork when he was a country. He hated it more than anything. Fighting a war, he was at the front lines, being diplomatic, he was drinking or flirting with other countries, as far as nationality went, in his prime Prussia quite nearly thought he was a God, so pumping up his citizens was no issue. Paperwork, however, was the bane of his existence. He would have hundreds to thousands of sheets of parchment to go through all at once, day by day a deadline teetering closer, and whatever aggravating boss he had continued to throw themselves down his throat. He despised doing paperwork when he was a country.

Today, he was not a country, and despite it all, he missed his paperwork. The thought made him roll over on the couch he was resting on, and reach over to the coffee table where he had collected a stack of all the beer he could find in his friend's house. He grabbed a bottle and popped the cap on the edge of the table before taking a half-bottle sized swig. Listening to the sound of papers shuffling a room over made him frown and gulp again. He missed having a boss, be it one of his more annoying ones, or his all time favorite. He missed fighting wars, feeling a bit of a badass as he shot down his enemies and led with his sword. He missed winning, and he missed losing. He missed his days of sporting a cross as the Teutonic-Nights, or at least as one of them. He smiled sadly, and took another swig as he remembered one of the other nights, dressed in similar white with a huge cross across his chest. His friend was a happy little boy who was almost always singing. Prussia found him odd, couldn't understand his constant enthusiasm, and occasionally fell jealous to how much more people seemed to love him, but Lord did he miss him now. Worst of all, out of everything he'd had as a country, or empire, or sanctum; the thing he had up to the last second, was people.

He missed his people.

He missed his heart beat aligning with theirs, he wished he could still fell them bustling around, or even when they were in pain. Every inch of his body used to be a city, a neighborhood, a section of land, and his people used to be there. They used to think about him, they used to appreciate him, they used to love him unknowingly as they felt a nationality for their place of origin or love for the land. His people used to be all that he was, and now he had no land, and he had no people on that land, and he was nothing.

He grabbed the remote, clicked on the television, and immediately wanted to die. The first show that came on was of course, the news, where of course, they were discussing the new arrangement of Germany. Naturally, at just the second he turned the show on, one of the announcers had an interesting comment to add.

"I didn't even know what Prussia was," she commented in smooth French with a light, playful laughter. "But," the screen behind her showing the old arrangement flashed away and showed a newly distributed Germany, "it doesn't exist any longer. The sanctum has been replaced by-"

He clicked off the news and downed another full bottle before turning it back on and quickly flipping to some sort of sit-com. Background noise, booze, and bad feelings was about all Prussia needed to engage his pity party. He spent the night thinking and writing about his old clothes, his old values, his old life. He thought of when he met his first Gilbird, and excitedly ran the creature up to Germania, believing it to be magical and bilingual, and begging his father - who was struggling not to laugh at him - to let him keep it. He remembered when the bird started to grow into a chicken, it's feathers changing color, and being completely freaked out by it. He went to Vati and told him the absolutely unbelievable lie that Switzerland was scared of the bird now that it was getting bigger, and that he wanted Prussia to replace it. He laughed at himself and took another drink as a painful memory of Old Fritz resurfaced. He loved that man like he was his second father, and every thought of him, much like thoughts of Vati, were bitter sweet. He thought specifically of the day Fritz, who realized he was near his death, told Prussia he would like his new boss and that he would do very well in his future. His "very well" amounted to the emptiness of not being anything and not having anyone.

By the time he finished his eleventh bottle, France had finished his paperwork and come back into the room.

"Mon cher, what are you doing?"

"...hallo Francey."

"Did you drink all of these?!" the man cried, making his way around the couch and gesturing to a pyramid-arrangement of empty, beer bottles and cans.

"I was thirsty."

"Mon Cher!" he threw himself at Prussia and cupped the man's face in his hands. "You cannot drink like this! You just got out of l'hospital! You must be careful!" Spain, then, upon hearing the commotion, joined the two and relayed the scene for himself. His usual smile faded, and he too kneeled by the couch with his friends.

"Amigo, you can't-"

"I can't what?" the drunken man forced, sitting up and pulling bitterly away from human contact.

"You can't sulk around like this." The notion actually irritated the red eyed man to no end. Yes the hell he could sulk if he so desired. He could sulk for what little fraction of the rest of his life remained and no one could tell him otherwise. No one else had been stripped of literally every and anything they had once had. No one else was existing in an odd state of limbo, not being a country, not being a person, but also not being dead. No one else felt what he felt, and no one on this planet had the right to tell him how he should react, not even Spain. His expression seemed to relay all of this.

"Prussia," the olive toned man pled, readjusting to once again have his hands on his friend's knees, "come on, you have to try to see the positives."

 _What positives you-_

"You could be dead right now. And judging by your medical history, you nearly were."

"So?"

"SO?!" France, in his usual over dramatic flamboyancy flopped to the ground and threw a hand over his forehead, "What do you mean SO?! You can't just up and die on us!"

"I'm practically as good as dead, so what difference does it make? No one will miss me anyways." Maybe it was the alcohol that was making him so blunt and open, whereas he would usually mask his feelings behind a smile and a few 'awesome's.

"Oh I swear, he is trying to kill my poor soul! Prussia, you cannot say z'ings like z'at!" the Frenchman moved his hands to over his heart, not noticing his worsening accent at his frustration. Prussia ignored this revelation, and leaned over Spain to acquire another beer. He opened it with just his bare hands and as he raised the bottle to his lips, it was plucked from him. He gave Spain, who was now holding his drink, and vengeful scowl.

"Prus, we know it must suck, but-"

"You know? No, you don't know. You have no earthly idea, Spain."

"...We know!" France retorted, "we know we don't know. And we won't for a very long time, maybe we never will, but, still!"

"Still what?"

"You can't give up, Amigo." The albino's face didn't move a fraction of a hair. "You can't just...fall apart like this." He looked back and forth between his Spanish and French friend, who seemed to be thinking the same thing, and carrying the same message.

"I am going to die."

"No-"

"YES! I am. I will. I don't exist anymore, so really, I should already be dead. I'm waiting for the inevitable. I. Am going. To. Die."

The room fell silent after he said it. His grimace deepened and his friends stared at him in shock, as if the thought had not yet fully crossed their minds. He hadn't given up, he had been defeated, and now in the ultimate way. There was nothing to fight for, no reason to continue on, and nothing to stop him from feeling pathetic. He'd amounted to nothing, and felt his fate sealed - he was going to die. No amount of Spanish positivity or French romanticism was going to change that.

Spain said nothing more, he simply stood and stat beside Prussia on the couch, one arm draped over his friend, and pulled him closer. France mimicked this movement, sitting on Prussia's opposite side, squished between him and the armrest, and leaned into the man's shoulder. Prussia did not object, and the three of them sat in silence until France began rubbing his arm and asked,

"Are you okay?" Prussia thought back to earlier that same morning, though it felt like decades ago, when Germany repeatedly asked him the same question, and when he failed to answer it.

He burst into tears.

They were silent at first, a few quick streams escaping his eyes and wetting the Spaniard's shirt, but before long he fell to loud, shaking sobs. No, he was not okay. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him more tightly and the trio began to rock. Prussia was horribly embarrassed, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd genuinely cried in front of someone; he'd always even tried to hide his tears from Germania, but he couldn't help but let his feelings be enveloped in warmth. The warmth of the two bodies around him, and the warmth in his heart. In the last few years, he made new friends with Japan and the Italians because of the war, he'd grown closer to Liechtenstein and Hungary, from time to time he could even catch Austria or, God forbid, Switzerland, taking note of him. He'd never felt so close to so many people; he always knew he'd take a bullet for his brother any day, but was just starting to see that that was a two way street. He now had Romano to share in his pains, and these two idiots never failed to make him laugh. He wasn't left out anymore, no one forgot him, and everyone seemed to care more about him. As a country, he was broken and abandoned, but as a person, he felt warm and needed. Somehow, he'd never felt he'd ever been more loved.

The man began to giggle, and all at once his tears of remorse became those of joy. Mein Gott, his friends were stupid. They were both laughing and crying as well, rocking around in circles growing dizzy and tired. They were such idiots, and Prussia was so verdamn grateful to have them.

"You guys are so dumb," he said between laughs and sobs, further indenting his brain's only complete thought, and he pulled away from their grasp, wiping his cheeks. The three had huge smiles on their faces.

"We love you too, Prussia."

* * *

"Prussia, do you know what you need, mon ami?"

"A billion deutsche marks. That'd amount to a lot of cats."

"What? Non! A pick-me-up! We should play truth or dare!"

"Now?" The Spaniard asked, joining the circle. His friends were still in their pajamas, splayed out on a floor-bed of pillows and blankets the trio had planned to share to sleep on. "It's past one."

"The best dares come from nighttime!" The former-nation called, actually a fair bit excited.

"Alright then, Prus, truth or dare?" France asked, already knowing the answer and thinking up a response as he went.

"DARE!" The Frenchman leaned in and whispered a dare into Prussia's ear.

"What?!"

"Or you can actually have sex with her. That'd be good too."

"France, Hungary has actually been nice to me lately. Hitting on her will launch me back onto her bad side!"

"Oh, so then you are chickening out?" Spain teased, flapping his arms as wings mockingly. France mimicked the motion and it only took seconds of it for Prussia's pride to kick in.

"No I am not," he stated, standing. Next thing he knew he was sneaking into Austria's house, via one of the windows, with a camera in hand, and a grin rearing. His plan was already half-way in motion. He'd waited for the two to start their usual night routine, now delayed because Hungary had to burden herself with dropping him off. Austria went off to re-heat dinner, and Hungary to shower. While she was under the running water, he stole every pair of her pants and dresses that he could find, and left her a provocative note, dispelling his location in the house. He sat in Austria's biggest music room, one leg crossed over the other, half the buttons on his shirt undone, and gave a thumbs up to his now hidden camera. Suddenly, the door burst open.

"PRUSSIA!"

"Yes?" He tapped a key on the piano several times, summoning Austria.

"WHERE ARE MY PANTS?" She stormed in, slamming the door behind her.

"I don't know."

"YOU TOOK THEM, DID YOU NOT?!"

"Yes."

"SO WHERE DID YOU PUT THEM, PRUSSIA?!" The man shrugged in response, grin rising on his face. "Prussia, I don't have time for this! I can't go around without a full outfit!" Prussia eyed her up and down - she was wearing the only long shirt she had, with a low-dipping neckline, and no bra, revealing a fair bit more cleavage than she would have liked. She was also fairly certain that a bit of her red, lacey underwear could be seen if she stood a certain way. The man watching her sent a red flush to her cheeks.

"I don't know, you look pretty comfortable wearing next to nothing." She gripped him by the collar and pulled him to a standing position, before slapping him hard across the face. She watched the spot quickly fade from white to a glowing red and felt a twinge of guilt, as the night prior that had been where a deep cut was on Prussia's face at the hospital.

"Where are they?" she snapped, and added less convincingly, "tell me, or next time it will not be a slap!" She raised a fist and tried to look menacing. Prussia smirked at her. The woman heard the doorknob turn, and before she could turn her head fully to look at it, she felt Prussia's hand on her inner thigh. Before she could object to that, she was forced to let out a small yelp as her body was being flung to the ground. The albino slipped in over her quickly, before gravity made her legs fall, and resultingly, one landed on the floor hitting as hard as her head did, the other over his shoulder. The door then opened fully and Austria peered in.

He had come in to check on why his piano had been touched, but completely forgot the instrument once his bespectacled eyes met the sight. His ex-wife was now laying on the ground, half naked, one leg flung over the shoulder of the man who was straddling her, Prussia, who was also nearing being half naked. The room was still and silent for a moment as realization struck Hungary, and her face twisted to horror. Austria quietly soaked it in. He stepped out of the room and closed the door.

"Austria!" Hungary cried in a guttural, tormented groan. Guilt was stripped from her instantly - the Prussian was quick to heal anyway - and she removed the leg from his shoulder to use it to kick him in the face. She stood, scrambled to the door, and turned back to Prussia who now had a bloody noise.

"I'll murder you later!" were her last words before she stormed out.

"You actually did it," Spain commented, a bit shocked as he watched the play-back on the screen of the camcorder.

"Yup. You know what that means!" It meant he got to assign the next dare. He looked back and forth between his companions, until a dare sparked in his brain, and he instantly knew what to do.

"France, truth or dare?"

"Dare, mon cher."

"Alright. England. I want his hair to be electric blue."

"Done." He ran out the door and returned an hour later with photos and a black eye. England in his house, and France standing behind him. The Englishman was obliviously sipping a mug of tea before, as the picture alluded, France clocked him in the head with a fire-extinguisher. Next, was England "asleep" with a plastic bag over his head. The next photo included England looking horrified into a mirror at his bright blue head of hair standing up on end. The final photo was a very blurry depiction of an angry Londoner lunging for the camera man.

"You guys were right," Prussia finally replied, that is, once he regained his breath from having laughed it all away, "I needed this."

"Alright, if that is the case, I pass my dare onto you!" France commented, smiling and tearing up from having looked at his mangled reflection.

"Good. I've been meaning to get back at Romano for spilling tomato sauce on my sheets. Spain, truth or dare?"

* * *

 _Prussia woke that morning to a ray of sunlight streaming in through his window. It was warm, bright, and encouraged his rousing himself out of bed. The man threw his legs over the side of the bed, stood, tussled his hair, turned towards the door, and nearly had a heart attack._

 _"Vati?!" Standing in the doorway was a tall, bulky, German man with the same ocean blue eyes and golden hair as his youngest son. As opposed to his usual style of down with a single braided accent, all of the man's shoulder-blade length hair was in a loose fishtail braid, with a few strands left out and framing his face. He had a light smile on his face, contradicting his usual sternness, and was dressed in all white. The sunlight seemed to frame him, offering the translucent man a Godly halo._

 _"Hello, Prussia. I need you to come with me, I have something to show you."_

 _"Wha-" Before he had time to properly object, Prussia found himself being gently forced back into bed. He was set to lay down, a blanket pulled half over him. His father grabbed him by his hands and pulled him up, sending a freezing chill to his form. The albino watched in helpless horror as a half-real image of himself slipped out of his deathly-frozen body. He turned slowly away from Germania, while still holding hands with him, and studied his body laying limp in bed._

 _"Vati, I ca-"_

 _"I'll bring you back if you want, I promise."_

 _"I DO WANT!"_

 _"But I have to show you, first." His father, glowing brightly and now holding only one of his hands, led his ghostly son through his bedroom door. Instead of it landing the pair in the hallway, they walked into a graveyard._

 _"My son, this is your future." Prussia watched as images of his brother, Italy, Romano, Hungary, Japan, Canada, all his friends and family faded into existence. They stood about a navy-blue casket, his presumably, wearing black and looking grim. Canada kept his head low, allowing blonde bangs to hide his facial expression. Japan acted out of character and voluntarily touched someone, that someone being Hungary, offering his shoulder for her to lean her head against. Germany stood in-between the two Italians, jaw hard locked, with one hand over his chest where two cross necklaces clanked against each other. France was crying, England was dealing with him, and Spain was embracing Romano, a look of pain on his face, Romano's hidden in his friend's shirt. The image skipped time now, and Germany had begun the ritual of pouring out alcohol; he'd chosen beer. Austria, so Prussia noticed, poured a bottle of Samuel Adam's, a fairly expensive brand, with no regrets. With another time fade, Germany came to the gravesite, and set deep, blue flowers on the ground. He lingered for a moment before turning to walk off. Gilbird, who had been on his shoulder, flew off of him and landed atop the tombstone. In another fade, Hungary was sitting behind the tombstone, leaning against it, eyes closed, and murmuring to it. With another fade, no one was there. It grew to get dirty, to become a home for ivory plants, and to crack, all alone._

 _"People will mourn your death greatly Prussia, but as they did with me, and others before me, they will move on."_

 _"Why are you showing me this?" Prussia asked, realizing he had forgotten to breathe in all that time and that his knuckles had gone white from his grip on Vati's hand._

 _"Because, I am in eternity. I have no reason to move on, or get over my kids. None of us do."_

 _"None of-"Before Prussia furthered his inquiry, he looked up at his father, to find forms behind him. The other Teutonic Nights, Saxony, Ancient Rome, humans he knew, some of his favorites from the military, other countries, other empires, Old Fritz, everyone he knew who had passed was there. They smiled at him in a mesh of white and golden glows._

 _"Someday, Prussia, you will join us. That day is supposed to be today. Your land no longer exists, so you have died. You may stay; we may be able to find new purpose for you, but you may also join us." Prussia looked at his gravesite, abandoned and grime-covered, and then looked at his menagerie of old, missed friends._

 _"It's midday Prussia, wake up!" Germany cried from the doorway. His brother lied in bed, still, only half under the blanket. Normally, a scream would rouse him awake, but he didn't move a muscle. After several more yells, Germany huffed and made his way to the side of the bed. He poked Prussia's face. Then he poked a bit harder. He nudged his shoulder, then shook it. He grabbed Prussia by both shoulders and roused the man, panicking. "Prussia! Wake up!" Panic overtook his tone as he shook the limp form to no avail. He noticed the other man's lips starting to blue. "BRUDER!"_

 _And suddenly, he heard his brother's voice. The Prussia in his arms, however, still ceased motion._

 _"I told you he would freak out, you took me too quickly. Please, just give me a minute with him," Prussia stated then, still motionless._

 _"Just a minute," another, vaguely familiar voice added. Germany turned around to where he'd heard the source of the voices and saw his brother fading into existence. His form stopped half-way, remaining translucent._

 _"Mien bruder," Prussia commented, holding hands with who Germany realized was the semi-recognizable voice, his past father, both murky and ghost-like, "I must go."_

 _"No! PRUSSIA! What do you mean?!"_

 _"I apologize Germany, I kept him too long. I did not want you to distress like this," Germania explained._

 _"You will get over me, Bruder."_

 _"Prussia! No!" The albino stepped away from Germania, finally releasing his hand, and grabbed at his necklace. He yanked the iconic cross of his neck, and held it out to Germany. As it fell into his outstretched hand, it faded the remainder of the way into existence and landed with a weight Prussia himself no longer had._

 _"Look over that for me. I love you." The two hugged, and before Germany was even close to ready to let go, his brother faded into oblivion, leaving the blonde with only a cold corpse._

Germany then jolted up in bed, eyes wide as they adjusted to the darkness. His back and shirt were both drenched in sweat, and his heart beating a kilometer a minute.

The odd thing about a dream is that you never know they're a dream despite them being in the third person. You have no thoughts in a dream, and can see what's going on, but are often not in your own body, rather, watching it. That should be a clear sign of a dream, but it never is. Germany didn't realize it was just a dream until he had already bolted out of bed, and took a half step towards the bathroom, while looking at his clock. It was bright, glowing, green, and showed him 2:47 a.m.. He had to stare at it for a few seconds, as he felt his breathing calm, his heart slow, and his legs straighten from their half-sprinting position. _Yes. It was just a dream. Or was it? It didn't much make sense that it was a dream, it felt so real._ A light snore roused his thoughts and his head snapped to a body in his bed. The undeniable curl sticking up from the blanket assured him it was just Italy, as usual.

Germany then clutched his chest, and felt that he didn't have his brother's cross, only his own. Also, that it was no longer midday, but the middle of the night. _Yes. It was just a dream._

 _It was just a dream._

 _Everything is alright._

 _My brother is alive, and well, and in his room- no, he doesn't have a room. He's at Spain's house. Yes. Everything is fine, Germany. Go back to sleep._ He looked at the window, still locked and shut, and then to the room door, also bolted. How Italy always managed to sneak into his house without leaving any traces of having done so, Germany was unsure, but for once, he was thankful for the man's presence. It was far too dark a night for him to lie alone; if he did he foresaw himself crossing several borders and sneaking to Spain's yard, just to peer through a window and see his brother sleeping. See him breathing. Germany made his way slowly back to the bed and climbed in, a fair bit closer to the Italian than necessary.

"Hmmm?" the smaller man hummed, roused slightly from his sleep.

"Nothing. Hush yourself." Italy nodded, before scooting over in the sheets and nuzzling his head into Germany's chest. In moments, he relapsed into dreamland, and only vaguely felt the muscular arm wrap around him.

"Just a dream, sleep now or you'll be tired in the morning." Germany whispered, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He shut his eyes and rested his chin on soft, brown hair. _Be still. Sleep._

And stay still he did, try to sleep he did, but, actually engage in a peaceful slumber - impossible.

* * *

ALRIGHT! CALL THAT ISH A CHAPTER! Why is England awake and drinking tea at like 1:30 in the morning? I don't know, you tell me (It's because that section was originally written as if it were the next morning). In the next chapter, things get bad for Prussia. I'm probably going to warn you guys about it before the next chapter starts in more detail, but just so you can get a hint of what's going onnnn, here's a fun fact.

I don't like Russia. I can like him if I change how he behaves entirely and place him next to China, but the way he's portrayed on the show and in the manga, I don't like him. He has a trio of trembling nations around him and a "metal pipe of pain" to threaten others with – people are scared of him because he's evil. He may be misunderstood and lonely, and that's fine when I'm in a RoChu mood, but, China's not in this story *vicious coughing*. Do with that information what you will.

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck around the entire run of this tale so far.** At some point I want to go back and re- title these chapter so they do all fit the song. Lord this story's plot has run very very very far away from me and is not like what I'd originally planned, but I like where it's going, so whatever! :D

 **Here's a question** – this chapter is over 5000 words long. Most my chapter are 3-5 thousand words. So my question is, **do you guys like a longer chapter and longer waits, or would you like me to split up my chapters (say this one was only the first and second sections) so you have less of a wait?** I'm cool with whatever, so let me know in your _**reviews!** _ :DDDDD


	9. A Week Away

Oh my goodness gracious. I just read a response to a review I posted on a fanfic praising it, and the author was so thankful, and it warmed my little heart. What precious angels live on this website, oh my god. She said the review nearly made her cry, which I so understand cause I've been there! And I know my own reviewers are all angels as well~! I love it when there can be a happy community like this. Just UGH. I can't even emotions right now. **Y'all make my day. My week. My life. Like, really.**

Do you recall when I said this wasn't going to be historically accurate? Yea. Well, it's come to my attention that phones do not exist in this time period. Ha. Oooppppsss...

 **Fanfic decided to do that thing where there's no apostrophes. So, where that just said "there's" will come up in most of the below as "there s".** I'm sorry, I just don't have time/can't be bothered to fix it. Hope it's not too confusing, guys. :)

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The Prussian man stayed under his friends' watchful eyes for another six days. They blended together into a haze of good sleep, delicious French food littered with tomatoes at Spain's request, mushy movies, silly antics, and bright smiles. During those six days, Spain had really stepped up. While he externally looked better, with most of his small wounds, cuts, and bruises having healed and faded, and his skin regaining its usual color rather than the twinge of green it'd had on day one, Prussia wasn't internally there. His heart rate had slowed alarmingly, and the doctors had given him Ricoroxaban, which Google so kindly told Spain was made for blood clots. He read up obsessively on the risk of stroke, heart attack, and seizures, accidentally convincing himself his friend was a step away from sudden death. He made sure every pill was administered the very second it was due, got multivitamins for Prussia high in vitamin C, and brought his old weights and equipment from the basement to give the man something to exercise with. He'd developed a small clinic in his room and would every night check Prussia's blood pressure and count the beats per minute of his heart.

"Spain," Prussia would plead near every time, "I feel fine, calm down, man." Honestly though, the albino didn't mind being coddled. He especially loved seeing his friend's goofy smile spread across his face with every check-up as his health gradually increased. It wasn't until day five that Spain remembered that he was still a country, and still had work to do. His boss had called that day, shouting a slew of Spanish curses at him for his unfinished paperwork and neglection.

France didn't have this problem. Most of his Prime Ministers and Presidents had quickly upon meeting him grown to accept the man's nature. The current two sighed when France had called them, hysterical about his Friend's condition, and knew immediately then that France had no intentions of getting done anything they'd asked him to. If they persisted too far, he would go on strike, and if he went on strike it was only a matter of time before the entire republic did. So, they extended the length of his leash and waited patiently for the man to come back, wondering what he did with his time.

The answer to that question probably would have irritated them to no end, as it was mostly just being an idiot. He dragged his friends to the club, the theater, concerts, shopping malls, and parties during his six days of freedom with only one goal in mind. It was to make Prussia smile. Every second the man wasn't doing something, he became lost in thought. He refused to convey to the others what he was thinking about, but the expression on his face when he did so disturbed France. He wasn't frowning or glancing down in some shade of despair, nor was he balling his white fists in anger. He would find somewhere to sit crisscross, sometimes write in one of his little journals, sometimes just stare at the wall, and his face went completely blank. He would occasionally nod or twitch, maybe mouth or whisper one word, but he'd usually end up so lost in himself he wouldn't even move. Just sit. And think. And it was creeping the wimpy French man out.

"Come now, mon ami!" he cried on night four, "get up, get lively! Go do some crunches, or put on some dress clothes and we'll go clubbing again! I don't like you just sitting around like this, you're wasting your time and there's not much left until you have to-" he paused, his eyes widening. It was his one and only slip up in all of the six days. The only time he'd brought attention to Prussia's limitations. The man in hearing this seemed to slowly find the exit from his train of thought, red eyes drifting up to meet baby-blue ones.

"Not much time until I what?" They stared at each other for a few painfully silent seconds.

"Up, up, up!" the French man said, grabbing the other by the arm in a hasty attempt, "no motionlessness allowed unless you want your heart rate to drop again and poor Espania to give himself a heart attack. Up!" The Prussia complied, and stood, his gaze lingering oddly on France, until all at once his seriousness melted away, he seemed to forget his unanswered question, and he smiled, making a full sprint towards the kitchen. He'd suddenly decided he wanted pancakes, and called Canada for tips on how to make them so strongly maple-flavored that he didn't have to add syrup once they were done. It was a tall order, but the quiet Canadian's elder brother, and one of his best friends, were able to make it happen.

So, all things considered, the six days were nice. They were filled with the quiet pleasantries of having people there to care for him, his thoughts on his position, and Prussia's heart needed a break from the pain. It was perfect to be able to laugh with these two like nothing was wrong, and sometimes it even felt like nothing was. He enjoyed the first six days.

This was day seven.

"I think it's about time I get going home. I've been gone for a while now and Germany might start to get curious."

"What? No! You're not fully better yet, and-"

"Spain," the Prussian assured, "I promise I'll stay on my meds and report my heart rate to you weekly."

"NIGHTLY!"

"Spain."

"You really should just stay here a little longer. You still have that one cut on your eyebrow," the blond of the group added.

"It'll heal in a time that won't make Germany suspicious. If I'm back home he can stop in on me whenever he likes. I'm usually not away for this long this suddenly, guys. I don't want him to think anything unawesome has happened to his precious older bruder."

"Oh, please Prussia! We never get to see you anymore! I feel like if you leave you'll never come back!"

"Oh, whoa Francey! There's enough of this sexy to go around!"

"Well...at least let us help you pack."

"I already pulled most my stuff together last night, but okay." And the trio set off up the stairs, the albino in the lead, to make sure every last article of clothing and bottle of pills was with him in preparation for his departure.

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So, sorry to break the tension here (even thought that is the purpose of this). I wanted this chapter to be a fair bit longer, so here was supposed to be one of my famous page breaks! I was going to swap subjects and have a little side story going on with the main one. However, life has kind of hit me in the face. My Grandmother just died and my mom is flying us out all of the sudden for the funeral and preparations (which is very inconvenient for me, but I can t be made at my Grandma for choosing the wrong week to die [love you G! I m just playin ]). I m going to spend a week away and then probably a month trying to catch up on said missed week in school (too many AP classes and college apps. Too little time). I figured unless I could pump out a chapter for y all real quick, you wouldn't get one for a long while, and I hardly find that fair, so this only has the one side to it. Just imagine there s some awesome start to a side story here and then proceed reading.

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The trio stood in front of a duffel bag. Inside of it were t-shirts, jeans, and boxers belonging to the Albino that had slowly made their ways to Spain's house via a friendly delivery through the course of the week. There were three, now vaguely labeled bottles of medication in there too. Vague so that if Germany found them, he wouldn't have anything telling him exactly what they were. Spain gave him a stopwatch to help with counting his heart rate, and a large Tupperware full of tomato soup. Or maybe just mashed tomatoes. Sometimes with the Spaniard there wasn't a difference. France, on the other hand, had collected all the phone numbers written on random slips of paper and napkins that had been directed and Prussia, and tied them up for the man with a lewd message on what to do with each one of the girls he'd encountered at countless night clubs and bars. His bag now packed, and appearance now checked with a shower, wash of the hair, style of it thanks to France, clothes cleaned thanks to Spain, and a bold, Prussian smile on his face, the man was ready to leave.

"Okay, so we should depart tonight-" France began.

"Why wait? I'm already ready. I wanna go now. Really what's up with you guys?" The seemed to have been going to the ends of the earth and back to try to keep him in Spanish territory. He picked up his bag and threw the strap over his shoulder. One pale hand made its way towards the doorknob, but before he grabbed it, the bell rang. There was a pause as he processed, and then went to unlock and unbolt the door. He opened it, wondering just who had come to visit Spain, and froze up at what he saw.

* * *

And now at the peak of tension, that epic-awesome side story from earlier continues! Readers writhe in pain. "I want to read in order but I MUST know who s at the door!" they cry, scanning and scrolling as quickly as they can to get back to the action. And oh look, there s the action right there. Because I obviously didn t have time to actually write a subplot in here...

* * *

Prussia stumbled backwards, caught himself in-between Spain and France, and tried to straighten up and calm his bulging eyes. The man in Spain's doorway stood tall, towering over all three other men, smiling lightly. He was not someone Prussia was very fond of. He'd never say he was scared of the man, same way he'd never say he was scared of anyone, but certain things he did came off...rather odd. How he'd smile, how his face could grow so dark, how he'd occasionally throw in a cheerful, yet demented comment about something, how he so dearly cherished inanimate objects, a scarf, pipe, and sunflower, more than actual, human relations. He was disliked by many, feared by many more, and the sight of the man made Prussia's heart drop. Russia s violet eyes sparkled as he passed the threshold of the door frame, uninvited.

"I see you're already ready. What joy, Malyutka!" he said.

"Wh-wh- Ready for what? What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Malyutka, you will be coming to be staying with me now...da?" Prussia fully allowed his face to twist into confusion, which was returned by a chuckle from the Russian man in front of him. "Oh, Malyuta, don't tell me your friends did not tell you."

"...didn't tell me what?"

"Uhm, what he means is," France began, placing a hand on Prussia's shoulder, "your territory is now under Russian control."

"What territory?" Prussia snapped out of his hold and spun around to face a guilty looking French man.

"Eastern Germany. Specifically, Berlin."

"Why the East? Why would the country be torn in half?"

"Because, Malyutka," Russia took another uninvited step forward, "You and your brother were very bad. You were not being nice, and it make the world unhappy. I have volunteered to watch you; make sure you stay good. Are you not happy, Malyutka? I am thinking it will be fun!" his smile twisted into a demented, evil grin, "now we will get to play. It'll be just like old times."

Prussia thought back to these old times. Back when he was a military power worth talking about, he'd more than once backed Russia into a corner, even out-smarting his Russian winter. He defeated him time and time again, and for a moment thought the other country was pitifully weak, he thought there was no way he'd stay as geographically large as he was, and that it was only a matter of time before Manchuria, or China, or even he himself invaded and took it over. That was until one day, Russia snapped. Something in him changed; he'd lost too many times or been rejected by one too many people. He lost it, and in their next battle, Prussia recalled losing consciousness as the Russian man strangled the breath out of him, smiling and laughing all the while.

He didn't want to play that game again.

"Yea, well, I'm not going. If you want to watch over me, I'll be at home. You know where to find me." Russia chuckled again, and glanced at France, who shivered.

"Prussia, you ought to just go with him."

"Yea," Spain added, "better not to cause any problems."

Prussia, unaware of it, stood with his jaw dropped and his red eyes probing back and forth from "friend" to "friend".

They knew.

France and Spain had known this was going to happen.

France, a member of the Allies during the war, was now in partial control of Germany. If that was the case, he must've known it was just half the country! He must've known that Prussia was being used as a mascot for the other half, and there was no way he could keep something that big to himself, so he must've told Spain about it. France's words rang in his ears, 'you're wasting your time and there's not much left'. His precious time until Russia had come to collect his prize.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out of his mouth with a near venomous hatred attached to it. France and Spain seemed not to have the words to answer and refused to meet his gaze.

"Mal-"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!"

"Malyutka!" Russia set a very tight grip onto Prussia's arm. His face for just a moment mimicked that of someone angry, but he quickly caught himself and smiled deviously. The man jerked his hostage backwards, "it is not polite to yell at people. We must be going now."

"Wha-" a surge of panic ran through the albino as he found himself already overpowered. He was too weak in this new state of not existing...or maybe he was half a country now? Just half a city? He wasn't entirely sure but it wasn't doing him any favors. He tried to pry the painfully gripping hand off his bicep, but made no progress as he was essentially dragged away. He stared wide eyed at his companions, willing them to help him, but neither would look directly at him. His hand slipped off of Russia's, giving the other man an advantage. He repositioned his hand and clamped down even tighter now before twisting Prussia's arm backwards, trapping him. If he moved out of Russia s will, he'd be without a functioning arm.

"I am so excited to have you come, Malyutka! Everyone at mine will be excited to have you and your friends join us! Such a big family we will become!"

"...my friends?" Russia seemed too lost in his fantasy to answer the question, and continued to smile to himself and hum a little tune. Prussia glanced back at the safe-house he was being forced away from one last time as Spain closed his front door. He smiled wearily, and then let it shut, hiding himself in shame behind it. Prussia felt his arm slightly released then, only for Russia to lift him off the ground single-handedly, and throw him into the back seat of a truck. Before the Prussian could even process, the door was already shut and locked.

"Seatbelts, Malyutka! Wouldn't want you getting hurt yet!" Russia smiled at him through the window before walking around the truck to the driver's seat, getting in, and driving off.

Prussia's face grew blank as he lost himself in thought.

* * *

 _ **THIS IS ACTUALLY KIND OF IMPORTANT,**_ so I m putting it first in my end note and hoping y all read it. Historically, it doesn t make any sense for Liechtenstein to be captured by Russia and taken under his control. However, I really want to throw her into the mix for these next couple chapters. **Would you guys be mad if I worked her in** , acting like, say, she goes to Russia s in place of her brother who lost (I don t even know if he was Axis or Allies. Did he even fight)? Or do you just want me to stick to history because I could easily do without her?

 ** _Malyutka_ means _little one_ in Russian.** I use it here to be equal parts expressing his dominance over Prussia, calling Prussia pitiful and tiny, and making Prussia out to be some cute play thing. Half endearing, half belittling.

And that'll be a wrap! I hope you enjoyed this chapter because, really, I did not. I think my writing quality is kind of dipping. Everything I try to write now requires multiple re-writes (this is attempt number 3) before I can even get the story lined up in a way I like. Then I go back to proof read and realize there s no emotion, I m too repetitive, I said the same adverb 9 times, etc. etc. Hopefully it goes back to being good and hitting people in the feels at some point. And hopefully my next chapter is like idk, actually complete.

 **There is this lovely (incomplete) story that I already know is going to do a better job of explaining Prussia and Russia's situation than I will.** Unfortunately, the best stories on this website tend to go unfished *cough* Feverish omg that story was life, especially that one scene where [spoiler alert] Canada-gets-all bloody-noised-and-passes-out-and-America-has-to-give-him-CPR-and-England-is-described-as-not knowing-what-to-do-and-just-panicing.-Also-that-scene-where-England-comes-back-from-hearing-the-results-from-the-clinic-doctor-and-starts-crying-because-he s-so-relived-Canda-is-okay.-Apperantly-I-just-love-daddy-England. *cough* but this one in particular, that talks about Prussia, is called **Behind the Berlin Wall by Hetaliasanguis**. Some things bother me about it, like how weak Prussia can come across from time to time, but honestly it's well explained and I think I'm just picking favorites as usual. Recommend the read if you re okay with it ending on a semi-expected cliff hanger and some Prussia x Hungary towards the end. It ll give you a good idea of what I will be trying to achieve in just one or two chapters.

Since I am on my 3rd re-write, here are my starting author s notes for the last two (cause I know some of y all like to read this. Just so you know the original plot for this chapter was entirely different [BTT goes clubbing, meet a human girl who gets Prussia to open up about his feelings, and then Russia comes by at the very end for just a second] but I re wrote and then ditched it completely because it ended up being too much about the girl and even suggested a Prussia X OC ship, which is just NOT what I want right now.)

So, I like to act like making shorter chapters will make any difference. It won't. I pretty much just update when I can. I just submitted 4 college applications, and while I have other homework and other stuff to do, I feel like that merits me taking some time out to write. So here we go! The plot here is about to twist, as I warned it would in the last chapter, but nothing too drastic. We're dipping toes basically. Finally taking the focus away from people's feelings and looking more at the actual situation. Alright, so, currently on a re-write. Writing comedy is like, totally not easy and super dumb. ESPECIALLY because I'm trying to mix in a handy helping of sadness. That makes it near impossible for my writing-incompetent little brain. When I read comedy Hetalia stories I bout piss myself laughing. I don't think I'll achieve that effect here, but I'd at least like to conjure up a pity laugh. So...here we go again.  
While writing: This was supposed to be BTT centric and mostly just slapstick comedy, but all that exploded and then this happened. I'm sorry, lol.


	10. By the Neck

Welcome to my re-write! Lately I can never just finish a chapter. It ALWAYS starts over. Great way to work. Very Productive :)

Alright, I'm excited! Genuinely excited to write! I know, right?! In this...section of the story I have A LOT I want to try to cram in. Because there are so many characters, relationships, and plot points I want to discover, I decided to leave Liechtenstein out of it, as she'd just be another layer for me to deal with. I have done some research (reading up on the Wikis of all the characters involved. Some interesting things there. Most of the behaviors I'll write here are canon), actually planned this out in detail, and it seems Prussia shall be staying with Russia for 3.5 chapters if my writing goes as planned. Hint hint, wink wink, it's already not going as planned. Haha. Now, with as much opportunity as there is here for a story, I could easily make Prussia stick around for a whole novel, as my inspiration for this section has done (Behind the Berlin Wall by hetaliasanguis - It's unfinished but it's fabulous and does a much better job of explaining this than I will), but I'll cut it down for the sake of the rest of the story. So, let us swan-dive into the action!

This story is getting to be longer and longer. My original plan was 6 chapters. LOL!

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 **These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal - Chapter 10**

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Prussia awoke, not sure where he was, as it was a long drive from Barcelona to Moscow. He wished his heart beat would shut up. It was doing a very good job of keeping the man from thinking clearly, which he needed to do, given his situation. Even after his nap, it was beating very roughly in his chest, so much so that it was slightly pulsating a chord on Prussia, a chord that crossed over his chest and behind his head. Where the chord touched his ear, all he could hear was rapid thumping. He attempted to shift to the side, and away from the chord, but was simply met with another of the seven chords being used to tie him to the back seat of a certain Russian man's truck. A Russian man who was now glaring at him through the rear-view window, seemingly not pleased he had moved. Prussia ceased motion until Russia stopped looking at him and refocused on the road, smiling and humming. He dared then only move his face, it falling into a deep scowl on the other man's back.

 _Verdammt_ Russian.

Why was Prussia in the back of his truck? Why was Prussia _forced_ into the back of his truck? Why was his body now touching the fuzzy seats that the Russian man had at some point, no doubt, touched himself? Why was he being subjected to this? His scowl deepened, unpleasant lines of a chord digging into his cheeks as he did so. He recalled Russia oh-so-easily pushing him back down into his seat when he tried to escape.

"Come on, Prussia, you have to stay in the car or I will lose track of you!" he reasoned, that condescending grin never wavering. The once Great, with a capital "G", empire of Prussia, was now 100 percent defenseless in the back of a bumping Chevrolet [1]. It was pathetic. He'd just finally gotten over his fear of Ru-

No, his _displeasure_ with Russia during the last war. He'd thought it all out; when they were kids, who was weaker? Russia. Who lost to him at war? Russia. Who as alone, disliked, and bitter because of it? Russia. Who had a loving little brother to protec-

to...support him? Prussia. So Russia had zero upper hands, Prussia had an unlimited amount of them. He'd thought it all out, but now, now that he couldn't get away, lean on anyone else, or even fight back, that logic didn't seem to apply. He was disgusted that he'd let himself fall into this trap, angry that his friends betrayed him, irate that they'd only did it because _they_ were scared of Russia, and pissed that now he could feel that fear resurfacing. Discomfort his left _arschbacke_ [2], he was scared, horrified even a the prospect of staying with this psychopathic man for more than five seconds. His stomach twisted and turned in discomfort every time the man so much as glanced at him! Resistance was futile, as he was too weak to even move. He hated it, and he hated himself for it.

It was with these bitter thoughts, and the loud beat of his frightened heart, that the Prussian man drifted back into his fitful sleep. Long drive indeed.

* * *

The last chord, this one striped blue and green, was pulled from the Prussian's lap and immediately wrapped around his neck. As if by leash, Prussia was ripped from the Chevy and onto a snow-covered driveway.

"Welcome to my home, Malyutka! I am hoping you are to be liking it!" [3] It was a grand mansion, formed of beige stones, covered in a thick layer of snow and frost, with a shadow of gloom over top it and surrounded on all sides by an iron fence. A very welcoming sight, to say the least.

"It's great," the Prussian deadpanned as his leach was tugged. He tried to resist gagging as he was dragged, by the throat, towards this place's door. He was not released from the chord until the Russian had walked inside, locked the door, taken off his snow boots, set down Prussia's bag, taken off his jacket (to reveal underneath, another jacket), walked Prussia into a sitting room, and pushed him to the ground. He had a nice ring of red on his neck, and, not wanting to irritate that further, the Russian man got down on his knees and leaned over the fallen nation. He pulled a knife from one of the many inner pockets of his jacket, a small dagger, and went to cut the rope. It would help not further the rope-burn, as untying it may hurt his new comrade. The Prussian, however, was lost to this fact, and felt his blood run very cold at the sight of a blade coming near his skin. He froze, and stared at it wide eyed, until he was released and freed to breath properly again; this didn't mean his heart stopped trying to beat out of its beholder's chest though.

"There. Now you are not tied any longer. You're welcome," The Russian commented, seeming to forget or ignore the fact that he was the one who'd tied him up in the first place, "I will go check up on the rest of the house." He stood and made his way back to the door he'd come in from. He pushed it open and stood in the door frame for a moment, before a blackish-violet...presence...had surrounded his body. He smiled back into the room, which now felt cold as ice, and addressed Prussia in such a way that the poor albino man almost pissed his pants and died from fright.

"I _do_ hope you are still here when I return, Malyutka. You have my trust, for now."

The door squeaked shut. Prussia stared at it from the ground for a while before letting his head drop, and curling up into a small ball on the floor.

"Oh God," he murmured in his native language, "what have I gotten into?"

* * *

It took the Prussian man longer than he'd like to admit to get off the ground. He laid there, scared for his seemingly bleak future, for an un-awesome span of time, and then slowly uncurled. He stood, made his way to the couch, sat down, and seemed to actually notice the house for the first time.

All of the countries were given money by their governments, often times a lot of it, to buy their home or homes. What Prussia could not figure out, was why after buying such a grandiose mansion, Russia didn't seem to want to spend a cent on decorations. Most of what he'd seen so far was bleak and bland with off-white walls, minimal furniture, and simple, dark, hardwood flooring. The room he was currently in, for example, had a thin layer of cream-colored paint, one blue armchair, another blue couch, a deep brown bookcase to match the floors, with none but three books on it, and a simple, Persian rug. Nothing else. No pictures, no lamps, no mirrors, no additional furniture, no anything; except the little boy shivering in the corner, that is.

Prussia did a double take once he noticed him, and frowned. How long had the boy been there? Had he seen him...well...grieving quite embarrassingly on the rug?

"Hello," the Prussian tried. The boy's beaty, blue eyes shot to him, but he didn't speak, opting instead to silently study the other. Prussia stood from his blue seat and started to advance towards the boy. The boy's eyes widened as he stepped further and further back until he was hugging the wall and had no choice but to face the other man.

"Hello," he tried again, "I am the great, and awesome Prussia! Apparently, I live here now." Something he'd said made the boy settle. He smiled lightly, a cute, little grin he had, and extended a hand to shake.

"My name is Latvia. I also live here with Mr. Russia. I knew you when you were the Teutonic Knights, but I hear you're different now, so that's good." The Prussian took slight offence to this, but tried not to let anything else puncture his deflating ego.

"Well, it's nice to see you...again, Latvia," he smiled back, genuinely happy. This kid was just so...cute! He reminded him of someone. "You're a Baltic nation, right?"

"Oh, yes. I am the youngest of the three of us. Other than me there's the next oldest, Estonia. He makes himself very scarce, but will probably come to meet you. Mr. Russia did tell us you were coming and he likes to be proper. I doubt he'll stay long; he doesn't like to get in trouble, and figures he can't if he's not around. You might also get a chance to meet the eldest, Lithuania."

It seemed all of the Prussian's childhood was piling up on him in this house. Lithuania he'd known when he was still a Knight, and he wasn't exactly the kindest to him. The two had been going back and forth since, Prussia having more man-power, but Lithuania outsmarting him. Currently, they were tied in Prussia's little mind-game of victories, and he intended to keep it that way or take the lead.

"Lithuania is around quite a lot," Latvia continued, "but, lately he's made a new friend and I don't see him much." The boy got caught up in his speech, almost forgetting he was talking to someone he'd technically only just met despite knowing his past self, "He always used to help us out so much, me and Estonia, but now he's always busy. He helps his friend now. I wish he would come back to us. Without someone like him to learn from I don't know how I'm going to..." he looked up, "I'm sorry, Prussia. You probably didn't want to hear my life story."

"No, it's alright."

"I just have trouble holding my tongue sometimes."

"I really don't kind kid," he said, pacing a hand on the boy's head. His hair was noticeably soft to the touch. "What else can you tell me about this place?"

"Well, aside from us three Baltics, another team of three, Mr. Russia and his two sisters are here. Mrs. Belarus is the youngest, and she's very scary. I don't like to talk about her like that, but if she decides she doesn't like you, you might be in trouble. Then, the oldest, Ukraine, is actually very nice." Prussia noticed an inconsistency: Russia was called Mr. Russia, Belarus was called Mrs. Belarus...despite not being married, and Ukraine, and himself so he realized, were called Ukraine and Prussia instead of Mrs. Ukraine and Mr. Prussia. He almost opened his mouth to ask about it, but the Latvian continued, and he decided it was more important to soak up all the information he could get. "She makes good porridge and smiles a lot. However, she's prone to crying, and Mr. Russia doesn't like to see her cry. If she cries, comfort her or run away, because it won't be good if Mr. Russia thinks you're the culprit. I guess you three will make the last trio."

"Us three?" Before the Latvian could continue, a knock was heard at the door, which shortly after swung open. In the frame now stood a bespectacled, black haired, fine-looking, young man. He was dressed in a forest green, to match his deep eye color, and held a gentle smile. Equip with a briefcase, and adjusting his tie, he looked ready for a very official conference call, or to host a meeting, or something of the sort.

"Hello," the man greeted, mostly to Prussia before nodding at Latvia, "I am Estonia. We welcome you to the home, Prussia."

"Hey, nice to meet you!" Prussia took a couple of steps in advance towards the man before freezing. A small, white, blob-ular... _thing_ crawled or rolled or hobbled or whatever it's pattern of movement was out from behind Estonia's leg. It seemed to smile at Prussia, before randomly growing a disgusting set of legs, not at all proportionate to its body shape. It took a few steps towards Prussia, who was still frozen in place, staring at it wide eyed, before Estonia stooped to pick it up. It retracted its legs and smiled at him before winking under glasses. A small flag popped out from the side of it's...head? Body? The flag was too small for Prussia to make out but based on the colors it was French, American, English, or maybe, considering where they were, Russian. The creature started to move, seemingly pleased by Estonia's touch, and a single, yellow, cowlick of hair on it's head/body started to bob about.

"You'll have to excuse me for cutting our introduction short, Prussia. I must be putting him back now. _He knows he's not supposed to be roaming._ " He said the last bit curtly to the creature.

"What is it?"

"I, well," Estonia looked from the blob, to Prussia, and back at the blob, "P-Please excuse me." And that was the end of Prussia's exposure to Estonia for the day.

"Hmp. He really is formal."

"Yes. Big brother Estonia will likely catch up with you later. Knowing him, he probably thinks his leaving like that was impolite."

"I'll excuse it, considering that...mess...he had with him." The Latvian giggled.

"I've tried asking him about those things," Latvia commented, putting new fear into Prussia that there was more than one of the creatures, "but he's very vague about where they come from or what they are."

"It was freaking weird." The Prussia replied, earning a laugh from his companion. He started to chuckle too, coercing the boy into even louder laughter, until all at once, the area dropped about ten degrees in temperature.

"What are weird?" a thick Russian accent asked, slicing through the room.

"N-Nothing Mr. Russia!" Latvia cried. He lost all of his prior resolve, the laughter dying in his throat. The boy stared pointedly at the ground, eyes wide, and not moving. Prussia observed this, and wondered if they were perhaps not allowed to talk about Estonia's creatures, or if Estonia wasn't supposed to have them, and Latvia was covering for him. It seemed to be the only explanation for the boy's sudden fright.

"I see," Russia commented, taking a step into the room. He walked right up to Latvia, and raised his hand. The boy jumped, but the hand was placed lightly on Latvia's now shaking shoulder. The two shared a few words in Russian, Russia smiling politely, Latvia not making eye contact, and twitching at the slightest of movements in the Russian's hand. Prussia felt his heart crumble as he watched the display. The big, scary Russian, had intimidated the joy right out of the peppy Latvian, and he now seemed to fear for his life. Poor kid. He needed a confidence boost, one his awesomeness himself would be glad to deliver, once the threat...to both of them...left the room. They chatted for a bit more until something Latvia had said made the Russian's face fall for about half a second.

"I'm sorry Mr. Russia! I didn't mean that! I just, I'm sorry! Please, continue!" Russia's smile slowly returned, and at the same time the room filled with the dark presence. His grip tightened painfully around the boy's shoulder as he continued to speak, but thankfully, Russia soon turned to leave, nodding at Prussia on his way out. Latvia stood, trembling, for a few seconds, before looking back up at Prussia.

"M-M-Mr. R-Russia...w...wants me to s-s-s-show you, a-around," he cleared his throat, and seemed to clear away his stutter at the same time, "come with me." The boy blinked, and smiled, trying to fake a calmness the Prussian could see he clearly did not have.

"Latvia, are you oka-"

"I will show you this level of the house first." He turned, and made his way out of the room, assuming Prussia would follow. The Prussian shrugged before advancing to catch up with the child. He was led out of the bland sitting room and down a narrow hall, they passed the stairs and the front door, but continued to walk to the door on the end of the hallway. It hadn't had a proper handle, simply a metal rectangle indicating the door could be pushed open. It also quite clearly told the Prussian it was the kitchen. When the door was pushed open, the aroma of a fresh meal hit the Prussian in the face making his stomach rumble; he hadn't eaten all morning. The cook turned out to be a woman with platinum blonde hair to her waist.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Belarus," Latvia greeted. Belarus raised a spoon from the pot she was stirring the contents of in greeting. "Clearly, Prussia, this is the kitchen. Mrs. Belarus is making lunch right now, and we usually all rotate on who's cooking based on what Mr. Russia wants."

"Okay, sounds good." The Prussian actually grinned to himself as Latvia led him back into the hall wondering when his turn to cook would come. Wurst and potatoes it would be, maybe a side of corn, maybe he'd get to make breakfast and whip up some pancakes. Any of them would be awesome! Maybe he wouldn't mind gracing this place with his presence as much as he thought he would. Latvia made a left leading him through another door into a sitting area; they simply glanced in before going on. All the rooms in the house were about the same; blocked off by a door instead of having an open floor plan, scarcely furnished, not at all decorated, and boring. After two more sitting rooms, Mr. Russia's office that he wasn't allowed to enter, a downstairs bathroom, and a coat closet, the Latvian led him upstairs. They headed towards the East wing and the blond pointed out Mr. Russia's and Mrs. Belarus' rooms, right next to one another, but didn't dare enter either. There was also a bathroom and another sitting area. In the middle of the east and west wing, just a bit from the stairs, was a library.

"Now this is pretty awesome," the Prussian said, easing into the room. It was two levels high and every inch of the curved walls was lined with books. Complete with a sliding latter, siting area, and two desks on the back wall, the grey-haired man could see himself working on his journal or reading for fun quite often in that room; wasn't much else to do here. After a moment more to gawk, he was led down to the west wing.

"This," Latvia began, "is where everyone stays." He gestured to the first door on the right. "Here is my room. I share with Estonia, but you'll rarely find him in there, or anywhere for that matter. Here," he pointed across the hall, "Lithuania lives. Next to him is Poland's room and across from that is where you will be staying. And over here," he turned around and pointed , "is where Hungary stays. She is usually, however, in Ukraine's room, right there. Tonight though, I know she's with Poland, in here." The boy opened up one of the plain doors and gestured inside. "There's more of the house I could show you, but I think you'd appreciate a moment to sit down. I'll move your things to your room, so, for now, just get yourself acquainted." He left, with the door to Hungary's room cracked open, and smiled one last time at Prussia before turning the corner and heading back in the direction of the stairs. Turns out the Teutonic Knights and Prussia really were different; the later was less of a jerk.

"...Hungary...is here? And Poland?"

"Prussia! Like, welcome to the party!" It was Poland who spoke. He sat on a rug in the center of the room, facing a single, twin-sized bed, with his legs opened, and a few books in-between them. A bold smile took his face as he flipped a lock of blonde from his view. Hungary, who was sitting on the bed, brushed some hair behind her ear as she looked, and stood.

"That I am," she commented. The woman walked to the opened door. "Hello, Prussia," she stated before doing one of the oddest things; wrapping her arms around his neck, not to choke, but simply hug him. For a moment, the albino was taken a-back, and looked to Poland for help. The Polish man only sniggered inside the room and continued to paint his nails atop one of the opened books.

"Hi, Hungary. W-What's going on?" She pulled away and smiled sweetly at him, the light glistening in her eyes. It was a big contrast from the literal kick in the face she'd given him last time they met.

"Nothing much going on, Poland and I are just talking. Come in, sit with us." She turned back and began making her way to the bed, the red eyed following. She winced as she tried to sit, seeming to have a fair bit of trouble with bending her leg at the hip connection. Prussia dove in, and grabbed the woman by the arm, lowering her into her seat on the bed, before taking one next to her. The three sat in silence for a couple seconds as Poland painted his nails, smiling to himself, and Hungary remained leaned on Prussia, smiling at him. Prussia didn't smile, and instead stared around awkwardly.

Something was off.

Last he'd seen of Poland, he was a bloody disaster on the ground, victimized by Prussia himself, his bruder, and Russia all at once. They teamed up on him, and beat the stubborn man to the ground. At the thought, a shiver hit the Prussian's spine; he remembered the sound of a cracking bone in a Polish body. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Someone had to be sacrificed for his brother's sake. Now, the Polish man sat fully healed in the home of his abuser and was faced with another of the two, and was gleefully applying a second coat of purple as if nothing mattered. It made Prussia...feel...something. Something he didn't understand. Or like.

Then there was Hungary.

She was in pain, a pain in her hip, and she'd actually let it show. She actually accepted help when Prussia offered it. She touched Prussia, willingly. In front of someone else. Admittedly, they had grown closer since this whole "fading away" business, but the woman still half-hated him and had appearances to keep up. She was really only sweet to him in private.

So, what alternate dimension had the albino crossed into that caused these two to act like they'd forgotten who they were?

"Uhm, why are you staring at me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Prussia," the woman commented, scooting away, "I'm just happy to see a familiar face. Welcome to Mr. Russia's."

"Thanks..." A silence lingered between the three.

"So, Prussia, what are you in for?" It was Poland who spoke.

"Uhm, I'm not entirely sure, but rumor 'round the block is that I am now the East half of Germany."

"Oh yes, I heard about that," Hungary commented.

"So basically, you're, like, in the same boat as us. Your government put you up as collateral to Stalin."

"When you say it like that, Poland, you make us sound like something to be purchased."

"No amount of money is enough to acquire all of this," Hungary commented, running both hands on her sides. The Polish nation in front of her laughed.

"You, like, know what'd make you better? If you let me paint your nails too."

"No! They'll just irritate me when they start to chip."

"How will they chip?"

"I don't know?! Knocking doors down, punching people in the face, taking pictures...?"

"Pictures of what?"

"Important news. Science. Nature watching."

"Oh, you mean gossip," he teased back. The Hungarian chuckled.

"You know how it is with Japan and Tai. We always have to be up to date."

"And you're planning on staying up to date while you're, like, stuck living here, boo?"

"Yes! Matter fact, did you hear about Spain, Belgium, and the Netherlands?!"

"Oh lord. What'd they, like, get themselves into now?" The two went on gossiping, giggling, and squealing like the true women they were, leaving an awkward Prussian man trapped in the middle of their conversation.

"She did NOT!"

"YES! And then, Spain starts texting Romano!"

"In the middle of their fight?! Was he, like, on crack?!"

"Must've been, because then Netherlands kicked him in the-"

"SO GUYS," the third wheel interjected, "what's it like here? At Russia's?"

"It's..." Hungary's mouth slowly lulled shut as she seemed at a loss.

"Hard?" the Prussian tried to complete.

More silence.

"Just," it was Poland who spoke, "do what you're told." Now, _that_ was a surprise. _Poland_ ; the man who wore dresses instead of pants; the man who was obsessed with ponies, not horses, ponies; the man who insisted on making the translation of his country's name be 'boat' despite being land locked; the man who has yearly festivals of throwing straw dolls into the ocean and then setting them aflame for fun; _this man_ , was urging Prussia to behave.

"Really, this coming from you?" the Hungarian giggled, seeming to be thinking the same thing, "You seem to love getting me into trouble!"

"That was one time! I'm sorry!"

"Oh right, right," the woman laughed, "but it's okay. I got you back, didn't I?" Poland cringed.

"So, how long have you two been here?" Prussia asked.

"Only a little while for me, like two weeks, and Hungary just got here four days ago."

"Is anyone else coming?"

"Doubt it, but we're, like, out of the-know, and such, for the most part. He only just told us you were joining a couple hours ago." The albino nodded, taking in this information.

"So, how are we gonna get out of here?" The Polish and Hungarian nations stared at him wide eyed before Poland hopped up, risking ruining his nail job, to shut the door.

"Prussia, we can't just up and leave," Hungary began, lowering her voice. Poland returned and keeled close in front of them making their communication circle very tight with whispering breaths bouncing off one another's faces.

We can't just leave," the Hungarian continued, "even if we could figure out how to escape. With the Russian winter raging right outside his house, and him on constant guard, I doubt we'd even survive an escape. We'd either be stuck in an eternal loop of healing, freezing to death again, dying, and re-healing, or Mr. Russia would find us out in the snow, bring us back, and..." a sour expression filled her face.

"Plus," the Polish man threw in, "there's our people to think about. Our governments promised Russia's boss, Stalin, that we'd be here, so Stalin and Russia will be pissed if we're not. I doubt that'll end well for the three of us." Prussia paused then, his expression twisting into a pool of confusion. What people? What boss? Now, according to France, he was the eastern half of Germany. That meant he was a nation again...right? He raised a hand to his heart and waited. He could feel it beating, but nothing about it felt like the powerful heartbeat of a nation, fueled by one's people. It just dutted on weakly.

"And, Prussia," the Hungarian added, setting a hand on his knee, "There is this new development with you, the reason you were at Spain's house..." That's right. He might still be weak, too weak to survive an escape. Even if he didn't survive, it wouldn't normally be a big deal because he could bet on himself coming back to life as any nation would, but considering he was cheating death, he didn't want to test if that idea still held true if he didn't have to.

The clock struck 3p.m.

"It's time for lunch," Poland stated, hoping up, "so, like, get a move on. Russia likes us all to eat together."

* * *

You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to be able to notice the apprehension around the table. In the kitchen, in a little oasis with the walls built perfectly around it, was a circular table. At it sat six identical chairs, and three mixed ones. If one started from the far end of the table, the chair up against the window, Russia sat with an expectant smile. Next to him on the left is where the cook would sit, so soon as she finished bringing the food to the table. Beside her, Lithuania was placed, then Estonia, then Latvia. Latvia was followed by the Prussian himself, giving him an unfortunate seat right across from the Russian leader. Beside Prussia, Poland sat, next to him was Hungary, and finally, was Ukraine, completing the circle, sitting next to her brother. Belarus set down the last dish and claimed her empty chair.

Prussia glanced around, not willing to meet Russia's gaze, and instead noticed everyone as Russia served himself. Ukraine and Belarus were very pretty women, as were all of the female nations actually, and all of the men equally handsome, nothing new there. It should just be noted that Ukraine had a noticeably large...

Heart. Prussia would need a few minutes with his bible for where his brain _actually_ went with that. However, the girl's large heart seemed to be matched with a perky smile she was wearing and a sunny disposition. Her sister, on the other hand, stared ahead sort of blankly and had an aura of power about her; very intimidating. Not only that, but when she had insisted she sit next to Russia, he complied willingly, and so did everyone else. She faced not even the slightest resistance.

The only other person present the Prussian had yet to speak to was Lithuania, who made a point of not looking at him. This was going to be a fun...day? week? month? How long was Prussia to stay there exactly? His pondering was halted when a fork finally clinked, it was Belarus'. She started to get her own food, and consequentially, everyone began grabbing bits and pieces.

"Do you really need two pieces of chicken, Estonia?"

"No, I do not," the man replied to his Russian master, placing a drumstick back into the center. Prussia picked up his own utensils and decided to go after the discarded meat.

"Latvia," Russia began, "why don't you give some of your rice to our newest addition?" The Prussian eyed the boy's scarcely portioned plate and frowned.

"No, that's okay, I have enough," he commented. Latvia looked relieved by this and even smiled at Prussia.

"Give it to him," a Russian voice commanded. Before Prussia even processed what was said so that he could rebut, half the boy's barely-there rice was shoveled onto his already full plate.

"Very nice, Latvia," Russia continued, "Now, what about your dearest brother, Lithuania? He didn't receive any of the green." Latvia stood, made his way around Estonia's chair, and wordlessly gave his eldest brother his side salad; his face a mixture of grief, fear, and restraint. Russia continued making suggestions, and Latvia continued portioning away his food. By the time he was again permitted to sit, his plate was empty save some scrap grains of rice. Prussia watched him pitifully as he stared at his emtpy plate, knowing watching everyone else eat was likely making the boy's hunger even more noticeable. It wasn't until he tried to look to Hungary for support that Prussia realized he was the only one paying the poor blond any mind. All the other eight were eating their meals as if nothing had happened, Lithuania crunching on the lettuce he'd stolen from the younger, hungrier mouth.

"I'll eat," Prussia thought to himself, "but just save some for Latvia. Poor thing." He patted the little boy next to him on the head, again feeling that soft hair, before taking his first scoop of rice. Latvia nodded at the feeling, and tried not to take his eyes off his plate. He could feel tears welling as his mouth watered, and did not want to cry in front of everyone. Again. Today, he would be strong for once.

* * *

"I'm done," Russia announced after a painfully silent lunch break, "Latvia, clean the dishes for us." He lifted his plate and handed it to the Latvian boy who took it in his hands and stared at it. On the supposedly finished plate was half a meal - uneaten rice, half a chicken leg, untouched salad, still plenty worth eating.

"M-M-Mr. Russia, if you d-don't mind...might...I...eat the r-rest of this? Please?"

"No. I said it's my trash. Throw it away over there and wash the plate in the sink like I told you to."

"But-"

"Latvia!" It was one of the Russian man's rare moments of sternness. He quickly silenced it, forcing his smile back onto his face, and as he did, a fearful, purple and black glow left his body. "Latvia, I did not ask for your opinion. Clean the plate. _Do not disobey me._ "

Latvia looked at Russia's plate. He looked at his plate. He attempted to look at his brothers, but could not, as the tears in his eyes were blocking his vision by that point. He forced the lump in his throat back down and blinked very carefully, forcing the tears to stay put. It hurt, it hurt so much! He hadn't received dinner, or breakfast, and now because of yet _another_ stupid slip of his stupid tongue, he was being denied lunch when the food was right in his hands. His stomach begged for a bite. Maybe he could just sneak in later, and grab the dirtied food out of the trash; food was food. He stood, holding Russia's plate in his right hand, his own empty one in his left. His body wouldn't let him gravitate towards the trash.

"Mr. Russia..." he began, the Russian man waited for his apology, "...p-p-pozhaluysta [4], forgive me." For the second time in one day, Prussia's heart broke. He could just tell by the tears in his eyes, the look on his face, and the sounds of his stomach, that the boy was humiliated. To have to say he was sorry for speaking out against this ridiculousness - was this serious?! He looked to Lithuania, who still didn't look at him, and now didn't look at his youngest brother either. He eyed Estonia, who was rolling a carrot around on his plate, refusing as well too look up. Pathetic. They were pathetic as siblings. Were they really about to sit there and let their not even teen-aged little brother be pushed around just because his abuser was Russia? They weren't even going to try to stick up for him? The Russian man was one to be weary of, yes, but if Germany needed help defending himself from him, Prussia would move a mountain to do so. The fact that the duo actually left Latvia out to dry disgusted him; and the child had spoken so highly of them earlier. Pathetic.

Suddenly though, it didn't seem Latvia needed any defending.

"Forgive me, Mr. Russia, f-for what I said to you th-the other day, and t-this morning, but, I'm very hungry a-and this food will go to waste. Please, let me eat it." Now, Estonia looked up from his plate, a fearful glinting in his eyes directed at his brother.

"Latvia," Russia stated, the aura around him growing, and the temperature in the room dropping significantly, "what did I tell you? I said no didn't I?" Belarus grinned, seemingly pleased by the drama.

"Y-you did." Now Russia stood.

"So why are you still asking me this?" he asked it playfully, his smile actually widening along with his aura.

"I...I..." Latvia looked down at the plate once more, a tear finally escaping his eye and falling into the un-eaten rice, "you are so mean." He whispered. Just as he'd said it his eyes widened in shock. Just as Estonia's eyes widened as well, Russia reached into the inner left pocket of his jacket and pulled out a lead pipe with a facet attached on one end.

"Come again," the Russian cooed happily.

"I-"

"I didn't hear you, Lativa."

"I didn't say anything!" the boy cried, horror in his eyes.

"You did. You said something. Say it again."

"I-"

"Say it again," he grabbed Latvia by the hair and pulled the whimpering boy nearer him, "I didn't hear you, dear."

"I- I'm sorry Mr. Russia! I didn't mean that!" Russia raised his pipe over his head.

"Mean _what?_ " as he said 'what', his voice not at all wavering, his smile still planted and cheery, his arm swung downwards, striking the child in the jaw. Latvia screamed and now so did Estonia.

"LATVIA!" The brother cried, standing from the table, concern written all over his face. He took a step forward but flinched backwards as the pipe was raised and swung again, this time hitting Latvia's chest. Ukraine raised a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sobs she knew were coming on.

"What did I say to you?" the Russian asked. Prussia realized he was sitting at the table still with his jaw agape, and forced his mouth to close and his legs to lift him.

"T-T-T-To thrOW AHH!... away t-t-THE foOD!" The Latvian cried, each fluctuation in his voice coming from another swipe of the pipe. By now he'd given up on restraint and let the salty tears flow, them sliding into his mouth as he screamed and sobbed. Now Russia probably wouldn't let him eat for another week. He couldn't just stay quiet? Stupid mouth. Always talking. Russia raised his pipe again and Latvia flinched in preparation.

The blow never came.

"Stop it! He's just a child!" Prussia cried, one hand holding back the pipe Russia had just been prepared to swipe down again. They stayed frozen in this position for a few seconds, no one moving but Hungary, who quietly whispered her friend's name in concern. Finally, Russia let go of the pipe, leaving it in Prussia's hand, and turned to face the man. The man who now very much regretted touching the pipe. Russia was smiling, as per usual, but Prussia could see an insanity swirling in his pupils and the purple-ish black-ish aura grew so big it seemed to encase them in a cocoon, the Russian's creepy face inching closer. For the first time in his life, someone used their height to intimidate him. And it was working.

"Kol," he said, "Kol. Kol. Kol, kol, kolkolkolkolkol." Prussia stared at him wide eyed, leaning backwards as the Russian leaned forwards until he was grabbed, a strong, sudden force on his neck. He made a choking sound as his airway was painfully cut off, and this tight, freezing cold grip began to drag him out of the room. He stumbled over Latvia and then over himself as an overpoweringly strong Russian man forced Prussia, by means of choking, out of the kitchen, into a door, and starting down a set of stairs.

"Prussia!" he'd heard dimly as his legs attempted to keep him balanced on each step he advanced. It was Latvia's sobbing voice.

"...ussia!" This time it was a feminine voice. With the next step he went down, a blast of cool air hit them. Goosebumps made their ways to his skin, and the grip on his neck was released as he was instead thrown into one of three rooms lining a hall at the end of the stairs. He gasped in, and upon blowing out, realized he could see his breath. He hadn't had time to even get off the ground before he heard a loud click, the click of the door being locked.

As he panted for breath, he pieced together the situation. He was now locked in a room, a room that he noticed had several blood stains about it, in the Russian's near freezing basement, with none other than Russia himself. Russia stepped forward and snatched his pipe out of Prussia's hand.

"Malyutka," he began, "what I say is final. I do not like to be challenged. I am just trying to protect everyone. It is important that you all _do not disobey me._ " The Prussian scoffed at this.

"How will starving and then beating a child protect anything?" He didn't get a verbal response, rather, a hard bashing of a pipe to his shoulder. That. Hurt. And it successfully knocked him to the ground.

The albino quickly regained his bearings and scooted up, back on his feet, and now, with more alertness, addressed his attacker.

"You can't treat people like that, especially not a sweet, little kid."

"If he disobeys me," the Russian 'explained', "he may form a habit of doing so. Then, say he were to disobey me on something critical? Who knows what could go wrong?"

"So you abuse him? _Es ist krank!_ " [5]

" _NYET!_ " The Russian boomed, losing his composure, "I DON'T WANT THAT NASTY LANGUAGE IN MY HOME!" Prussia, shocked by this outburst, backed up wide eyed until he hit a wall. With is fingers on it he could tell it was solid and rough; painful to hit against. He could again hear his heart hammering in his chest, his fear of the Russian man bubbling to the surface. Prussia, however, was not Estonia. He was not Lithuania. He was not going to leave that poor boy to defend himself and he was not going to fall privy to Russia's every command. He was stronger than that. He didn't care if he was sacred, or if he was weak! He was born to fight and this was a better time than any to do it.

" _Fick dich!_ " [6]

Russia listened to the sound of the wind whipping as his pipe traveled through the air towards Prussia's face.

* * *

[1] I was going to put a Russian truck brand, but I figured no one would recognize it, which would not be helpful to my cause.

[2] German for booty cheek. Just defining since it's a curse I haven't used before.

[3] I am not really writing this story with accents, I find them difficult to read, but speech patterns will still be present. I notice Russia is unnecessarily wordy when he talks saying "I am with believing you" instead of "I believe you" due to some grammatical confusion. I like it. So there it is.

[4] Please

[5] It's sick!

[6] *curse word rhyming with fire truck* you!

This chapter was going to be longer but, after 7 thousand words, and me being too tried to even edit it (I'll be back for that in the morning) I think I'm going to have to cut it off. I'm satisfied with it being longer because I think I exaggerated the relationships I wanted to and got my points across. I wish there could've been even more on Latvia's physical pain, but I think you guys can get the gist. Hopefully y'all see what I do here :). Also, poor Latvia. I thought up Prussia's own reaction to Latvia based off my reaction another fanfic. It was called HETA by lord knows who (one of the most popular Hetalia fics, you'll find it) where after a particular scene near the end, I almost cried. My heart was so broken. Imagine that emotion transferring onto Prussia for Latvia. I imagine Prussia kinda pities him and is mentally taking him under his wing, so seeing him go by mistreated is not easy for him to do. I could sit here in the end review and explain all the relationships I'm planning on forming, but, that's what the story is for. Hopefully I can write well enough for y'all to see it on your own. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, but I gotta go. Bye bye, and **please review my lovely readers!**


	11. The Poor Floor

Today we have a very long chapter that took a lot of editing for me to even feel like it was worth sharing. It took about four full days of work to write, so I hope it doesn't suck, as that'd be a total waste. I'm on winter break right now, so I MAY be able to update this sooner than practically a month after the last update, but then again I work nearly full-time right now, so maybe not. We will hope, cross or fingers, and see what the world awards me!

* * *

 _ **These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal – Chapter 11**_

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The man awoke slowly, leaving a state of dreariness with extreme difficulty. His eyes would not open in spite of his efforts, and his eyebrows scrunched closer and closer together with each banging throb of the head. He wished he was still asleep. The squeak of the bloodshot eyes he _did_ manage revealed near, total darkness. It was not an indication of the time, as the tiny window a height and a half above him would not have offered much light in the daytime either. The only thing he had to see with was a dim light hanging by a thread in the middle of his small cell, that was currently flicked off, and he couldn't even try to force himself to make it all the way over to it. This was okay though because there wasn't much to see. An entirely concrete room, a steel door, the occasional blood spatter or spatter of some other unidentifiable substance, a few cracks, some dirt, some dust, and hooks all about. These hooks where used to connect chains, such as the ones connected to the ceiling, shackling the Prussian by his arms in a standing position. He'd slept like that, his wrists digging into the chains as his body weighed them down, and he'd successfully chaffed off some of his skin, leaving painful rawness touching the shackles that were both hot from his constant contact with them and cold from the surrounding, near freezing-temperatured air. At the remembrance of the temperature, a shutter hit the Prussian's spine, and he shifted from one foot to the other, desperately wishing he was wearing shoes, or at least socks, on this icy concrete. Shifting of his feet ended very quickly when the pain in his body kicked in. He would have pulled his hands down to clutch his head - where they not firmly in their shackles- at the sudden intensity of his already established migraine. It seemed all he could do was close his eyes tight as every slit in his skin stung at the temperature and bruise on his body ached at being rubbed against the thin fabric of his jeans and t-shirt. He shivered as his body's natural combat to the cold, and regretted it. His muscles screamed in pain at being forced to move.

He was cold. He was sore. He was hungry. He was cut. He was bruised. And he was tired. So. Very. Tired. He had been up from lunch the previous day, to well into the night with Russia. The taller man armed with his pipe, and shorter armed with fear, engaged in an extremely vicious fight. Prussia had put in a valiant effort, but the last good injury he recalled giving the other was a bleeding bite on the arm followed by a punch to the throat. Russia faltered with his pain for only a moment, before striking back with triple the force. A few more blows of the pipe, and Prussia's body had lost all its will to fight. By what felt like midnight, he was a crumpled ball on the ground, struggling not to cry, (as while his body had given up his mind was determined to at least not give his attacker the satisfaction of seeing him completely destroyed) waiting for the next painful strike. Instead of issuing any, Russia chained him to the ceiling such that he was still on his feet, but had his arms up, removed the man's socks and shoes for added sadism, and left the room with his pipe, making sure to lock the door after himself.

The same door that's knob was now jiggling; perhaps the sound was what woke the Prussian in the first place. He looked to the shaking door, too tired to dawn an expression on his face, but an anxious fear bubbling in his stomach. A click was heard. The door squeaked open.

A woman, a little tall for her gender but still manageable, with platinum blond to her waist, a perfect figure, glowing, blue eyes, and a silk bow tied in her hair stood, scowling, with a large bowl containing cloth, gauze, bottles of various substances, and a jug of water. She walked in, shut and locked the door back behind herself, set the bowl on the ground, and walked up to Prussia. She stood on tip toe and raised her right hand, with one key on her key ring held out, to the shackle. Rather, it was as close to the shackle as she could get but she was not quite tall enough. Belarus settled then for leaning against Prussia and standing as tall on her toes as she could now that she had him to support her. The key went in and clicked with the shackle, releasing its hostage.

"Here," the woman said, stepping away and handing the Prussia the key ring, "undo your other one yourself." He did as he was told, wincing at the stiffness of his muscles, but willing to ignore it for escape, and brought his hands together to look at the damage. A fair bit more skin that he'd thought was rubbed raw from his right wrist, and it was even still bleeding. The left only had one, deep cut in it with surrounding skin that was turning purple.

"Sit," Belarus commanded, taking her keys back. Prussia'd decided that passivity was his best option at the moment, and again obeyed, taking a cold seat on the concrete. Belarus sat in front of him. For the time being, she remained the only one talking.

"Raise your arms." He did, wincing again. Belarus then removed his shirt.

"Stand again." He did, finding it to be a great effort with lots of groaning involved. Belarus now rolled down his pants. Prussia had to fight, very, very hard, his primal urge to pelvic thrust at her.

"Sit back down." Prussia did so, shivering at the cold touching his bare skin, but quickly got used to the chilled ground and actually appreciated the feeling on his bruised thighs. The Belorussian woman emptied out the contents of her bowl before adding a drop of something from one of the bottles, presumably soap, and half the jug of water into it. She took the cloth, dipped it in the water, rang it out, flipped a lock of hair behind her back, and began to clean the still opened wounds. She'd decided to work from the top down, and pressed the fabric to the area right between Prussia's silver eyebrows where a small nick was still bright red. She worked with great focus, rubbing gently over the spot before taking another cloth to dab it dry. She took a third cloth and poured some substance from one of the bottles onto it, before pressing that to the wound too. Rubbing alcohol. Prussia pulled back instinctually.

"Oh, man up." He continued to let her dab and do her work, scooting herself and the bowl closer to him for easier access. Even if this bothered him, he had no strength to get her to stop; every inch of his body was throbbing so intensely, that in the few moments when he wasn't shivering profusely, he could actually see the muscle's pulsation under his skin. He had to focus on something else every time she touched one of her cloths to his skin, and reminded him why he was begin treated in the first place. Something else. Anything else.

There was a dark brown stain on the wall behind the woman. Prussia breathed in all too hard and it upset his shoulder, causing another wince and shutter of pain. Perhaps it was nearing being dislocated. He stopped breathing regularly and settled instead for a shallow breath every time he was in dire need, unsure if the pain of suffocating himself or the bolt of misery in his collar bone every time he did end the suffocation was worse. He tried again to shift his focus, this time gazing absent-mindedly at the door-knob. Even if the door where wide open, he couldn't realistically see himself taking one step, better yet actually escaping. His left temple pounded, a vein making its way to the surface, and Prussia tried again to re-focus, this time settling for studying Belarus. There was an intensity in her deep, blue eyes. They stood out from the rest of her face, as if her pale skin served only as a backdrop to God's real focus, those striking eyes. Prussia decided he liked them, as they were similar in that respect to his own crimson eye color on a white as snow backdrop. He stared into her eyes while they stared at their work and for a couple seconds, the two were silent like that, just focusing, pain forgotten. For a few seconds, he recognized the woman's dread-filled expression and deep-set frown as the baby blue orbs swirled in sadness.

Only a few seconds though, because, Prussia quickly realized it was kind of awkward. The man snapped his head away from her all too fast and reactivated the despair in his shoulder and a new strike in his left side. It felt like bolts of lightning moving up him, which caused a harsh intake of breath to combat the pain, which caused all new pain. He groaned, slowly settling back into a proper sitting position so the girl could continue her work, and then decided to speak his first words of the day as Belarus swapped focus, returning again to the soapy cloth, with plans of pressing it to a bloody bruise on his left peck.

"What are you doing?"

"I am cleaning your wounds, Prussia."

"Worried about me?" Her face said she was not. "Why then?"

A somber expression accompanied her explanation. "6pat [2] asked me to."

"What, do you just do whatever he says?" Prussia had asked the question with a malice and disgust in his tone, but regretted it when Belarus looked up at him, frowning, a pitiful blue meeting shocked red. She looked back down at his chest, seeming to be ignoring the question, till she said:

"I really care for him."

"...I see." They were silent for a moment. Belarus blinked twice, slowly, and Prussia watched her with growing concern.

"I wonder if he will kill you." The comment took Prussia aback, almost enough to make him move, but he was not one for repeating mistakes. Their eyes met again, and she smiled at him through her apperant despair. "I know 6pat is strong enough to. What I wonder about is you. Will you die or regenerate?"

He had no answer, as he was unsure himself. This displeased Belarus, and she jammed her knuckle into the space between his breasts, rotating it side to side and sending jolts of stabbing, throbbing, pain to the Prussian's form. He grunted, and attempted to lean away, but her hand followed him, twisting and winding.

"Will you regenerate?" she repeated.

"I don't know!" The twisting stopped, and Prussia raised his arm that was now more so just dull than in any pain to press soothingly on the affected spot. "I don't know if I'm still a country, or if I still have my nation's strength, or immortality. I tried to be cautious last night, but, you can see where that got me."

"I think he will kill you."

"Oh."

"I'm jealous." Prussia hoped his face did not form into his original reaction of 'what the holy hell', and now held it firm and blank.

"Of course!" she enthused, "6pat should only be able to kill me. And himself. Then we could die together. I think he will love me better that way! Maybe he will stop spending so much time with Latvia, the silly eldest Baltic, and even now you, and instead focus on me, as he should."

"...You really want him to murder you then?" The smile on her face died.

"No. I just wish...I...do you ever wonder why we live forever, Prussia?"

"We don't. Just until our land and people are gone. It just takes a long time."

Her eyes down cast as her work slowed. "I don't want to do this for such a long time anymore."

"Do what?"

"This," she gestured to him, "that," she now referred to the cleaning materials, "everything," her arms flopped to her side in dejection. "I don't want to live for seemingly ever pining for 6pat. Caring for idiots like you just because he likes me to. I just want...him to..."

"Uhm," Prussia began. He did not get to finish speaking as suddenly, Belarus was excited all over again. She grinned ear to ear and raised her cloth to work again.

"When I become one with 6pat he will see! He will see how great we are together!" Prussia smiled lightly at the woman's excitement. If his sister could love him so much, then it at least meant Russia had somewhat of a heart. The poor woman was probably just lonely, missing some familial affection and depressed she'd been sent to the damp, dark dungeon instead of given praise. He understood. How many times had he tried to bond with his brother, only to do something to annoy him, and be sent away? How many times had he tried to hook up with Austria or Hungary only to have them literally avoid him? Clustering is for unawesome losers, but that didn't mean he didn't from time to time want- "6pat and I are destined to be married someday!"

"..."

"...!"

"...Oh." What was he supposed to say to that? Really? "When's uhh...when's the wedding?"

"The date is not yet set. 6pat doesn't know yet that he's in love with me."

"..."

"But someday, he will stop spending so much time with others. He will stop avoiding me." Her work got more and more intense as she spoke, what was once gentle patting of a towel became dabs, then pokes. "He will not again say 'go away'. He will not be scared...or, no... cautious, around me. He will see. 6pat will see that he loves me and we will be together. Forever even if we have no choice but to live these extensive lives. Forever!" By now, each touch of the towel forced the Prussian back a bit, the one on 'forever' knocking him onto his back. It was cold on the ground, and he wished he'd held himself up a bit more insistently. He sat himself back up and decided again not to speak. He wasn't really interested in discussing how amazing Russia was, or in getting pushed over again. And so, now with a wide smile on her face, Belarus continued her work. Prussia watched that smile slowly fade into a neutral expression, and that neutrality into a bit of sorrow. He wanted to ask, but was afraid of what the neurotic, incestual woman would say next.

* * *

Belarus had left two days ago. Since then, Prussia had only had one other human interaction, that being a silent Lithuanian man feeding him a bowl of celery soup and saltines while avoiding eye contact. He munched greedily on the crackers and slowly swallowed the soup, enjoying the warmth that spread to all of his shaking limbs. It filled him for a day, but now, his stomach growled angrily all over again. Prussia doubted for some reason that a meal would come, or that anything good at all would come.

It was an odd amount of quiet in his cell. No one spoke, and it wasn't so hushed he could hear himself breathing or his heartbeat in his chest, rather, he could hear light things: the hint of a bird's chirp, the slight rushing of a slight wind, footsteps overhead padded by layers of flooring, the faintest of murmurs that could have been voices. The near-silence wrapped itself around him as a heavy cloak, and coupled with the darkness weighing down as a scarf on his neck.

The cold, he could feel, but had come to ignore. His body had already passed the state of getting so cold he was hot; that had happened yesterday morning. It started randomly in the first joints of his fingers. He rubbed them against the backs of his hands, and only made the burning worse, a heat, almost searing in pain, intensifying at the feeling. He tried then to simply rub his palms together to warm them up, hoping to warm his fingers by extension. It worked, until his hands started to burn with the chill as well. Slowly that morning it spread through his body until all of him was burning, the slightest sensation of friction boiling his skin, and then it all died out. He'd grown numb to the cold, his body giving up on shivering, and the spot his feet where standing on having grown hot from what little body heat had to share with it, so it no longer discontented him. His arms had lost all their blood circulation being up for so long, but once painful wounds were now nothing more than dull aches.

Prussia's maroon eyes stared intently at the ground before him. The floor appeared to be moving, gliding away from him. He knew it was not actually going anywhere, but for the last few minutes, (or lots of minutes, or hours, who could tell?) he watched it pulsate in a hopeless attempt for retreat. He felt bad for the ground at this point; it was trying so painstakingly to escape him, but had made zero progress. It probably just wanted to wonder off back home and be with its floor friends who hadn't betrayed it and its floor brother who would welcome it with open arms. The floor brother would be overjoyed at seeing it, and not annoyed but tolerating as usual. The floor brother would have the floor's pet prepared, perhaps a cat, or a snake, or maybe the floor was fond of a little bird, it made no difference. The floor, and the floor brother, and the floor friends, and the floor's pet would all live happily ever after; if only the floor could get away. But considering it was chained to the ceiling, it was not going to be moving more than a couple inches. It was sad. Really, it was. Prussia genuinely pitied the unmoving slab of concrete below him.

Suddenly, his head jerked up. He was sure he'd seen movement, but there was nothing there. Slowly, but surely, he looked back down and studied the ground's persistent attempt at departure. He looked up again, there was movement now of the doorknob, accompanied by sound. Keys. Jingling. A click. The door unlocked and swung open.

Why was Prussia scared? Why was all the fluid and air in him pumping around in ways they shouldn't? Why was this feeling growing stronger, deeper, making him forget the dull pain in his re-shackled wrists, ignore the stinging in his now re-located shoulder, and stilling his chest's rise and fall of breath, as the Russian man stalked closer? He made his way slowly from the hall, to inside the cell, to turning from locking the door, to five feet away from Prussia, to four feet, to three, two. He reached the point where it seemed logical for him to stop, and didn't, continuing to inch closer and closer to the other man, forcing his heart to race and eyes to widen. That creepy ass face was two inches away from Prussia's own, smiling cheerily, when the albino stopped thinking. He leaned away, but with his arms entrapped, really how far could he go? His heartbeat was incredibly strong, he could feel the organ beating through his ribcage, fueling the fear he wished he could kill. Russia just continued, closer and closer, at what felt like an unbearably slow, yet fearfully quick pace, until:

Their lips touched. It was nothing too scandalous, just a quick and simple peck that left the Prussian disoriented. He stepped back wearily, and Russia's smile intensified. _Wha- Why?_ Red eyes scanned back and forth between two violet ones for some kind of hint. _Why would he...? He wouldn't try to...to...with me...!?_

"Good Morning, Prussia. I see you are patched up and feeling better now!"

 _What?_

"You must be cold. Do you want a blanket?"

 _Huh?_

"Or maybe you would like to be released from the chains?"

 _Uhm...?_

"Wouldn't you mind answering me when I ask you questions, Malyutka?" An all too familiar, deep, purple cloud of dread swirled about the Russian as he said this, snapping the Prussian from his confused state and back into his fearful one.

"Yes. Yes to the blanket, and the releasing." Instantly, the cloud vanished, and Russia happily obliged, pulling a key ring from the inner pockets of his coat and using it to easily unhook the two shackles. Limply, the free man sat down. Russia sat in front of him, chris crossed, and rested his hands on his ankles, putting himself in ample position to start rocking back and forth playfully. Prussia watched the spectacle of this grown man before him acting like a six-year-old, and remained thoroughly confused. _What then? Is he just going to act like nothing from the previous nights happened? Is he just going to sway around like some freaking, unawesome idiot and force me to sit here and look at him?_ A scowl started to form on his face.

"No 'thank you'?" The taller of the two remarked.

"You're the one that chained me up in the first place," Prussia snapped in a fit of anger. Russia stopped rocking, and his smile faltered, going from an expectant gleam, to a shocked sorrow, and then some form of pitying grin.

"Oh Prussia," he said in a tone very similar to that of a mother, challenging her child's intelligence, "you know I had to do that. You would not listen to me, and I am just trying to show you that it is important to do so. When I, out of the graciousness in my heart, bring you into my home, you have to obey me. You did not. I can't have you doing things like that, Malyutka." Prussia's eyes squinted into slits and the left side of his lip curled downwards. A fury of absolute disbelief and resentment coursed through his veins. The Russian man continued his speech.

"Now that you have seen, and now that you understand, I am sure you want to leave here, right? So all I ask is that you apologize. Say you are sorry for interfering the other day at lunch." Prussia did not apologize. He simply blinked, long grey eyelashes brushing against the cool air. He took a breath in, to prepare himself for his answer, and then pondered in a matter of reality-milliseconds but mental-minutes how he would do it. Should he scream? No, he was still too weak for that. No reason to over-exert himself considering what was about to come. Should he be short and curt? Maybe if he could manage to make his face look menacing...but would Russia find anything other than his reflection menacing? Maybe he just not answer at all, or perhaps apologize sarcastically? No, no, he didn't want there to be any confusion about what he was feeling. Irritated and...and...and belittled! Like the Russian man thought he was some kind of naive fool able to be persuaded with simple, empty words. He breathed out, furrowed his brows, and gave his answer. Loud, but not screaming. Curt, but not meant to scare. Not sarcastic, but certainly a jab in and of its self.

"nein!" he said. Russia didn't respond at first in any way; he just continued to sit on the ground, facing his challenger, with a half sympathetic and half mocking smile on his face.

"We've talked about how I don't allow that language here, Malyutka."

"nein! I am not saying a word of sorry or showing the slightest regret for standing up for the child you were abusing! You sicken me!" Russia pursed his lips. And then he pursed them harder, smile falling to a blank expression. He stood up.

"I come here, Malyutka, I greet you, I release you, and I ask for one, simple thing, and this is the thanks I get?"

"I will not be thanking you!" the Prussian cried, making his way to his own feet as well. He snarled at his opponent, rage painted all over his face. "Don't act like you've done me any favors!" He took two steps forward, closing the gap between himself and the bulkier man, before curtly shoving him backwards. "You took me from my friends!" another shove. "You keep me from my home! My brother! Gilbird!" A shove with each exclamation. "You locked me in your rotten basement!" shove. "You hurt a cute, little boy! You denied him food! You keep calling me out of my damn name, that, Malyata garbage! You made Hungary and Poland act all weird!" By now he was so angry tears were welling in his eyes and he was screaming so loudly he was hurting his own throat. _Goddamn this Goddamn Russian. Might this next push just send him to the floor, out of my sight, off a cliff, I don't care!_ "Sie sind verdammt ekelhaft!" [1]

The next thing Prussia saw was the ground, and what he felt was the unbelievably painful throbbing in his cheek, caused by a metal pipe connecting with his jawline. He was ripped off the floor by his hair, and grunted at the tearing pain.

"Nyet." [3] A purple gazed intensely into red. "You will not disrespect me like that. I did not have to be this nice to you."

"Nice how?" Prussia could see that Russia had the clear advantage of having his full strength, not being freezing cold, and not being half-held up by his hair, but that was not going to stop him. He spat in Russia's face, his Germanic roots of aggression taking firm hold on the situation as he then kicked outwards, his bare foot knocking away Russia's left shin, and faulting his balance. Russia released Prussia's hair in the shock of being kicked, but only for a second as he quickly lunged for the other man, enraged.

"NYET!" He grabbed Prussia by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him closer, and swung again, this time connecting the pipe to the other side of his jaw. Prussia grabbed at the cold metal, and tore it away from his attacker, sending it clattering into a corner of the room. Now both sides of Prussia's face were throbbing so strongly he was sure it could be seen pulsating from the surface of his skin. They couldn't just hurt near his jaw either, the thudding throb trickled up to his temples, putting his entire face in a state of agony. He flexed his jaw, fairly surprised nothing was broken. Before he had a chance to properly react, the dirty blond grabbed Prussia by seemingly his favorite place – the neck. His grip was tight with his large hand easily surrounding the front and sides of the Prussian's only chance for air, squeezing tightly with nails digging into the skin. Weakened state or not, at risk of dying or not, Prussia refused to just grovel there and choke. They struggled for dominance, the dusty-blond gripping both hands onto the other's neck as Prussia fought to pull away. Accepting this, Russia reversed his forced and threw Prussia at a wall, his mid back landing right atop one of the hooks for chains. Prussia clenched his teeth in an effort to not cry out in pain as a hand instinctively moved to cover the affected area. He ignored his pain, brushed it off life a leaf in the wind, and charged the advancing Russian into the wall. He hoped some part of him hit a doorknob, hinge, or out of place nail as the loud thud of the Russian body colliding with the surface reverberated through the small room.

Using an unexpected force, Russia grabbed Prussia off his torso by his shoulders, tossing the smaller man to the ground, and straddling him before he had time to move. He delivered one punch, two, three, straight to the face. He grabbed Prussia now by the biceps with a grasp so firm he could feel the bone shifting under the skin, and lifted him up forcing him to a wall. Russia was head-butted, Prussia kneed in the stomach, Russia's arm bit, which caused him to release the Prussian on one side. Using his new, free, and swollen arm as leverage, Prussia reached for his opponent's wrist, and pulled it as far back and upwards as he could. There was a pop and a grunt as Russia's shoulder as it shifted out of its proper position. In retaliation, Russia kicked Prussia in the gut and released his other arm to issue another set of punches to the face; the man's nose was now bleeding.

The issue keeping them from ending their fight was that both were mad. When mad, Russia had to be right. He seemed not to even notice the injuries he was accumulating as his only focus was on showing Prussia why he was wrong. He had to be trained, and that was no issue, he had trained nations and humans before, but he would not stand to be disobeyed and disrespected in his own home. He did not have to feed Prussia. He did not have to clothe him either, or have his sister tend his wounds, or even provide this room for him. He could have buried him in the snow and left him there to rot, dying and resurrecting repeatedly as a nation would, but he had not. He had been kind. He would have to teach Prussia how to return this kindness.

Prussia, when angry, was inflamed in every way. His ego, his strength, his emotional sensitivity, his determination, his stubborn qualities, his drive, his honest to God love for fighting – all much bigger than they should be. This swelling is what propelled the fight, as every injury burned more than the last, but rather than discouraging the Prussian, it encouraged him to want to do more damage. To want to come out on top!

This standoff, irritation vs rage, vanity vs fortitude, was getting ridiculous. Russia did not have time for this. He had a ballet show he wanted to watch at festival a couple towns over, he still hadn't assigned anyone the cooking of lunch, and he himself was getting the slightest bit winded, even a little sweaty, in his trench coat and scarf. This fight needed to end, so, he needed a weapon. Considering his pipe discarded, the Russian used his good arm to pull a switchblade from one of the many pockets lining the inside of his coat. Before the other even saw the glinting silver, it was inside his shoulder, and when Russia twisted it to the right without removing it from said shoulder, Prussia finally screamed aloud. The knife was quickly removed from the quarter-circle hole it had now made in the flesh and repeatedly jabbed sending a set of stabs all down Prussia's left arm, one by one. Russia finished his knife work by sliding the blade along Prussia's neck, not deep enough to kill, but still able to scare and hurt. He would not, of course, be that careless. He would not kill his soon-to-be comrade. He grew tired and weary of the blade and tossed it to the side, where it clattered and landed near his beloved pipe. He punched with great force at Prussia's leg, earning another scream. He punched the other knee, and unfortunately nothing broke, but it bruised quite nicely, quite quickly. He wanted more skin, more pretty, ivory skin he could change the color of. He rolled the Prussian on his back, diluted the little bit of restraint he got from the man, and with his bare hands tore away the thin fabric of a cotton, white t-shirt, effectively choking Prussia at the same time. His back needed to be marred, it didn't deserve to be this perfect when it's beholder was so poorly behaved. What could he do to- _oh, that's right_. Russia stood from his victim.

"Malyutka," he began, making his way to the corner of the room. He recollected his pipe and knife while Prussia scrambled to get to his feet, "didn't you request a blanket from me?" For fear of what would happen next, the red-eyed one didn't answer, not that Russia needed an answer to his rhetorical question. He pulled a black, fleece blanket out of his jacket, kicked the other man back onto the ground, and threw the blanket over Prussia, effectively covering his head and back. "It may not, however," he pulled a matchbox from his pants pocket and removed one, "be warm enough for you," he struck the match, "so," he tossed it onto the blanket and watched it quickly erupt into flame, "there you go."

He left his chamber listening to the sweet sounds of screaming insolence and huffing in the smell of burning flesh. Next time, surely, Prussia would be more cooperative.

* * *

The little, blond boy scooped another spoon of porridge onto the brass utensil and held it up. His hand was shaking, but the spoon went into the mouth it was supposed to and the recipient swallowed.

"Latvia," he said after swallowing, "don't cry." But it was too late for that. Latvia was already crying. He may as well have said to the wind, 'don't blow'.

"I'm sorry, Prussia," the boy blubbered. As he sucked in a large gulp of air, one of his tears slipped into the porridge bowl. Latvia stirred the mixture and then held it farther away from himself – Prussia would probably not appreciate a salty meal. He took another scoop (he was trying to work fast, as once he felt the familiar chill of that basement he wanted to quickly feed the other as long as the food would stay warm) and ushered it into Prussia's mouth. Prussia swallowed.

"Did you get hurt again?"

He sniffled, "No." It was a lie, and both parties knew as such. The red-purple mark under the Latvian's left eye was testimony to this. He had not done anything so bad this time, just a small slip of his words, which earned him a slap to the face because of disrespect. When Russia slapped him, Latvia supposed he had forgotten he had been forced by his sister to wear an engagement ring, and the uneven band of steel and diamond was not so kind to the boy's visage. But that was not why he was crying. He had already sobbed over the pain and squished his cheek in an attempt to soothe the throbbing. He'd already dabbed away the flecks of blood and foolishly tried to put ointment over it, ointment that only made it burn worse and had to be quickly removed. He had already frowned at his marred appearance and he had already been scolded by one Baltic and coddled by the other. He had no reason to cry over that.

Now, these tears of his fell and they wouldn't stop. He had tried to get them to stop; he had tried biting his lip, holding off his breath, squeezing his eyes shut, and blinking repeatedly. But Latvia knew two facts about himself to be true: all he knew how to do was cry and be fearful. This was what his life had become living under Mr. Russia, an endless cycle of those two states of mind, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much his chest burned, no matter how ashamed he felt, and no matter how much he desperately wanted to stop crying: he could not.

It was just too much. Too much to look at for him to stop crying. Each time he scooped the porridge, he was forced to look up and find the mouth to feed it to, and each time he would see. He would see a pale man with a chain so rightly coiled around his neck it was nearly strangling him, he would see him slumped in a half laying, half sitting position to try to minimize the amount of choking he was doing. The man had cuts all up one of his arms, so much so that the shoulder on what remained of his shirt had a large, red stain. The rest of his shirt was in a similar position to that of the Prussian himself; scorched. It had all turned brown and black and flecked away in shreds of ash and char. It left exposed the mangled, bloodied, bruised, but worst of all, burned skin of that pale man. So, every time Latvia looked up, he burst into a fresh wave of tears.

"You did get hurt again," the Prussian protested between bites.

"I did not."

"Yes you did," his hand twitched. He tried to raise it, but the energy he needed just was not there, "you did right under your eye."

"It d-doesn't hurt."

"Latvia, breathe." He had his eyes closed, and was biting his tongue. He didn't want to breathe, because if he did it would give his body fuel to rack more sobs from his system. He wanted to hush, as instructed. He shook his head and held out the next spoon. Prussia accepted it and then spoke again.

"Latvia please." He continued holding it in. "Come here then." So, the boy leaned forward. He did not actually touch Prussia, as he assumed any contact to his skin would be painful, but he got close enough for Prussia to reach him. The man rested a hand on his head, and began to pat. To rub back and forth. Latvia let his eyes lull shut as those gentle fingers massaged his scalp. He let himself breathe again, as he was turning red from trying not to, but his sobs were less frequent now, and less harsh. His tears rolled off his chin and into the neckline of his shirt, but nothing seemed to matter so much as the soothing feeling on his head.

"You did good," Prussia said, "you've done very well and don't deserve to get hurt. It's okay to cry as long as it's not in front of the one who hurt you. You're okay, Latvia." His voice was barely a horse whisper, and it pained Latvia to hear it. He wondered how long Mr. Russia would wait before sending someone to tend to his wounds.

"Please don't do it again," the boy stated.

"Do what?"

"Don't… don't act out again."

"I was standing up for you. I don't mind."

"But I was wrong, Prussia. I-"

"Latvia, no, you-"

"You got hurt because of me!" he pulled away from Prussia's hand, and looked him in the eyes. Those dull, rose-colored, half-lidded, tired eyes with tears from the cold air collecting on the brim. He looked instead then at the porridge and took another scoop before offering it up. "Please, j-just don't… I can't… please."

"Okay, Latvia, okay, hush now," Prussia swallowed, "just don't cry. You will be alright."

Latvia wanted to believe that statement, but looking at the peeling skin on his new-found, stubborn friend, who he subconsciously knew would keep fighting so long as he was alive, was deterring him from doing such. He looked back down at the bowl.

* * *

 **[1] - German: You're fucking disgusting!**

 **[2] - Russian: Brother**

Nine (wow. I literally just typed that. Wow. Not "nine", but ) **[3] Nein and Nyet both mean "no" in their respective languages if you were unaware.**

MWUHAHAHA! IT ONLY TOOK LIKE A CENTURY BUT I WROTE THE NEXT CHAPTER! BOW TO YOUR MASTER, MY PRETTIES!

Okay, but seriously, this took forever to write because I didn't know exactly what I was doing. I've realized **a lot of what I want to write about going on in Russia's house really has nothing to do with Prussia, his emotional state, and his fading away status.** It's mostly about giving him a new culmination of friends, which isn't bad, but, it isn't extremely focused. **I just wonder if this will bother you readers.** In the next chapter I'll be sure to touch more specifically on Prussia's challenges.

Another question I want to ask is **does my depiction of Russia bother anyone?** I mean I know it's probably not his biggest fan's cup of tea, but can you get by it? Do my explanations of his emotions and motives make sense or does he just seem OOC? Again, all the characters here are based on what I read in their wikis, so I think Russia's behavior is an exaggerated canon, but what do you think?

Final question, does this chapter stack up? I feel like the start of the story had better chapters than what I've been releasing lately, so I'm trying to get back into it all, but I don't know. **Is this any good?**

Let me know your answers or anything else in the _**reviews,**_ thanks for reading, and see you next time mi amigos! :D


	12. Questions

So, I don't know if you guys know this, but I saw in a video a flash of a Hetalia strip and stopped to read it. Basically, Russia was kind of concerned/irritated because Latvia kept trembling; he wanted to make it stop. So, Russia's solution to this, was:

To pull Latvia's head off.

I just find this very amusing. Like, Russia just standing there, holding the corpse's head like "ahh, it stopped the shaking!" and being genuinely pleased with himself like he did something good. Estonia's face was priceless.

Writing this chapter was very difficult, because I kept getting headaches every 500 words, which doesn't happen to me normally, so I didn't know what was up. I don't really know where I'm going from here…more chapters in Russia's to explain more? Wrap it up to just get back to the action? Re-write the last two chapters? Still unsure, but I do like (I think?) what I have here so it's fine. Whatever. Just read.

* * *

 _ **These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal - Chapter 12 - Questions**_

* * *

Hungary was not a poet. Nor was the woman a lyricist, nor a writer, nor a playwright. For some silly reason, she thought this was obvious, but, judging by the bag of crumpled, torn, and discarded papers that Prussia had told her to "piece together", the world was unaware.

So, hear her now, world. She is a fighter, horse-back queen, a bit of a gossip, yes, a music lover, and even had a decent waltz; but she was not a poet.

It didn't really take a poet to "piece together" a letter back home – it's a fairly simple gesture. However, after a week of the Prussian somehow successfully hiding the fact that he was writing his letter from his captor, he decided it would be safer to get rid of the evidence. When it again became time for the Hungarian's turn to feed him or tend another round of wounds, the single, well-written, simple gesture she'd promised to risk her butt delivering, was handed to her in this mess with not so simple instructions of "piece it together".

The woman grabbed another sheet, and could gather just from the marks all over it, that this entailed more details for possible starts to her "pieced together" letter (yes, that's right, after an hour and a half of shuffling she had let to write a single word on the final draft).

 _Dear Bruder,_ This line was crossed out with a thin line of black ink.

 _Dearest Bruder,_ This line also did not fully convey what the Prussian was trying to say, and had been crossed through.

 _Bruder,_ Nor did this one meet his expectations, so it was met with the black strip of death.

 _Germany,_ Or this one, for some reason. What? Too formal? Too informal? It was just a name!

 _Hello,_ This line was also crossed out.

 _Hallo,_ Are you sensing a pattern? Crossed out.

The entire page continued like that; a guten morgen here and a salutation there, each false start to the note crossed out with a flick of the wrist. All she was able to "piece together" at this point was that she ought to try another paper.

 _Hallo, mein bruder,_

 _I know I haven't seen you in a long time_ "long time" was crossed out and in small text above it was written "little while".

- _but_ , that was crossed out _, and,_ that was crossed out, _but I'm not even that lonely._ The words "that" and "even" were discarded of. They were actually crossed through twice, because the second line went through the entire sentence surrounding the words as well. On top of it all, this page had been crumbled into a very tiny ball.

The next page she tried was a half. Half to another half she'd already found. When reunited, they had scribble marks all over them, and a word here or there was hard to discern, but Hungary figured she'd try to read through the mess regardless.

 _Little Bro,_

 _How you been? I'm having a hard time figuring out what I should tell you, but I read once that when you have a writer's block it's good to just write about anything without worrying. So, I'll tell you where I am. I'm in Russia's basement, but, don't worry about it! It's cool down here! I have_ \- there was a blotch of ink here where Prussia rested his pen, likely while he was trying to think of something he had down there other than chills and bandages,- _fun._

Wow, Prussia. Maybe you're not a poet either.

 _I made this new friend, this cute little boy called Latvia. He's really sweet and, oddly enough, kind of reminds me of Gilbird. I miss Gilbird. I think it will be good when I get to go home and finally see him again. Aside from that, I have Hungary and Poland to talk to, so I don't even need anyone else._

Hungary pondered how she and Prussia had not really spoken much but a few sentences to each other the entire time he'd been there. Most of his stay was alone, in the cell. She decided it wasn't really her place to correct him if he wanted to lie, so, she just kept reading.

 _Everyone keeps the place clean, -_ this was by force, and it's not like they cleaned anything in his cell but him.

 _and last night we had sautéed potatoes for dinner -_ no, actually, they did not.

 _so it's kind of like being at home. Speaking of my home, have you been paying my bills? It might get repossessed at this rate. I've been here a while right? But it's fine, because I'll be coming back soon, I'm sure. Or, maybe not, but that's okay. I could get a new place, or, I could live with_

– there was a very heavily written "y" at the start of the next word, and the Hungarian could imagine Prussia's pen running over the space again and again as he tried to convince himself to write the rest of the word, but, he didn't. This was when he decided he was done with this page and marred it with scribbles and a tear.

The next one seemed more hopeful, save a couple crinkles from the ball-formation it was in earlier.

 _Hello, Germany, it is your brother. I know we haven't seen each other in a while and I figure you might be worrying about what his-awesomeness is up to, so here's an update. First of all, if you didn't know, I'm staying at Russia's. I heard that through all this you're under America's control, kind of. Does that mean you live with him? I bet his place is nice and spacious; Russia's is too. It's got a really cool library and a basement! Plus, there's a lot of people here. Hungary and Poland are here, currently fangirling over something dumb upstairs, along with Russia's cute sisters (well, one is cute. The other is cute, but taken, apparently), and the three Baltics. Thankfully, Poland, Russia, and Lithuania are not as awkward about things as I thought they'd be. So, it's okay here._

 _How are you, really Bruder? Have you been cooking healthy food? I know when you make a cake and no one is there to eat it you take the task on all by yourself and you need to stop that! I'm not coming home to a tubby brother I'll have to whip back into shape. Have you been feeding the dogs? Is Gilbird okay, do you know? What about the lawn – I hope you're watering your lawn. And try to stay on cleaning the inside of the mailbox; I'm telling you your diagonal neighbor's snotty kids keep putting dirt in there._

 _But I know you're doing well. I love you._

Following that statement there was a line that stretched from the period to the bottom of the page; a lazy drag of the pen. The Hungarian woman couldn't find the problem with this essay really, but it's original crafter didn't even find it good enough to finish. She figured she would try one more letter before quitting, one more, just to try. This was specifically because it started with:

 _Hungary, if you're seeing this, do not read or consider this one given that it somehow ends up in the pile, I'm just trying to sort through some thoughts._

Obviously, the woman did not know that it started with that because obviously she "missed" that line when she opened up this folded paper, and now was obviously just obligated by sheer…concern for Germany…yes, that, to read what came after it.

 _Hungary, seriously, don't read this._ She "hadn't" read that either. _I'm just going to write 100% openly here and it's going to be stupid so please don't read this. It wasn't even supposed to end up with you, so come on. Please._ He had said please…twice…and it almost made her stop, except that that didn't make any sense because she "didn't" even read that.

Obviously.

 _Hello Journal,_

Wait, a journal entry? Not another silly letter? Maybe she really should stop…

 _Today, I was awesome, as per usual._

That was the only line crossed out in the entire paper.

 _I'm sick of this. I want to go home, but I don't even know if I have a home. Home is supposed to be where you feel grounded, the area that is represented by every centimeter and hair on your body, where your people are all rooting for you, and where you just fit. Is this supposed to be East Germany for me, or where my old territory was, or is it just nothing? This is the kind of thing I need to talk to China or Japan about, they usually know about these things from somewhere in their long list of experiences. But of course, now I can't ask, and I never did ask Germania about his fading away, so I don't really know what's happening. I wish I could reread what I wrote that day, but, I'm pretty sure it was just that I went to find vater and he was leaned against a tree. Myself and Switzerland tried to talk to him, but he told us to leave him, and that he was tired and wanted rest. He said he loved us, and kissed each of us on the forehead, and when we left, so did he, I presume. So, is that going to happen to me?_

She really should stop reading _._

 _Am I just going to get tired one day and kiss the world goodbye? I mean, he must've known what was happening, right? Otherwise he wouldn't have been so, -_ here was a little curling line that extended for a while - _well, I can't think of the word I want, but the point is, he must've known. Will I know? Is that what this is now? It's just so confusing and frustrating and I don't want to have to be here for it! I don't feel like a country, but they tell me that I am, and when I was one I wasn't paying too careful attention so maybe I do feel like one, and am just scaring myself. I don't seem to be any physically weaker, but my healing is slow as shit. Does that just mean it's slow or does it not exist anymore past a human level? Japan would be able to help me, I just_

– the next two words couldn't be read. The ink was blurred into one, gray circle, like a drop of water hit the paper.

 _I hope someday I re-read over this taped into one of my journals and feel stupid. I hope future-me is laughing at current-me's idiocy. But right now, I can't laugh. I'm fucking painfully scared and confused and just…fuck. When am I going to figure this all out? I feel like I've been in the same place about everything for years. YEARS! And after all that time I still can't say anything for sure, like that I have or don't have much time left, or whether or not bruder will be left alone, or anything at all because I simply do not know. Every time I try to sit down and think about it all I get overwhelmed and lost._

 _You'd think I'd know this shit! You'd think I'd be able to tell what I am, and where I belong! You'd think, Journal, but you're wrong and I'm just a clueless moron. Don't want to infect the rest of the nations of the world with my ignorance, so I may as well just bow out of this existence now. No one would care. I mean really, HOW DO I NOT KNOW THIS STUFF?! WHERE WAS I WHEN EVERY OTHER COUNTRY GOT THIS BASIC INFORMATION?! WHY AM I SO STUPID?!_

Hungary was not appreciating this moment. Simple sentences, letters combined into words combined into thoughts and ideas on a sheet of paper were not supposed to make her frown. They were not supposed to make her feel things like…this…this…this feeling! All of the pits forming in her stomach and worry lines etched into her forehead had to stop, because they were just words on paper – _Prussia's words_ at that – and being a country was simple. You could just _feel_ it. It feels like…well actually, what did it feel like? Her forest-colored eyes slowly shut as she forced the lump in her throat back down and tried to focus. Her heartbeat was the first thing she noticed, thumping in her chest just hard enough to be felt from the outside. This made her think of her blood, and see each of her citizens as a drop or cell of red marching along the road-map of veins.

It made her _think_ of all this, but in all honestly she realized it just _felt_ like having a body.

When her economy lulled, she got sick, but was an economic sickness any different from a human one? The common cold or a regular fever? And even ignoring that, did the economic change cause her sickness or health, or did her sickness or health cause the economic change? Would she be able to tell the difference if her role on the planet altered? She didn't want to think about this, and then could understand why Prussia didn't want to think about it either. She folded the journal page in half and set it aside, vowing not to read anymore.

She wasn't going to read anymore.

She really was going to stop.

No, she had not just looked at the folded paper again. She had moved on, and was working on the letter home, and she wasn't going to look again. She swore!

Well…it's not like she swore on _her life_ or anything.

 _Kill me. Fine universe, let me die. No one knows what the Prussian flag is anymore, those crayons named after Prussian Blue got their name changed, I don't see a brigade of countries coming to save me, it's getting to a point where people didn't ever even know Prussia was a thing, so clearly I'm irrelevant. Just let me die. I don't care anymore, can I just get some kind of a WARNING PLEASE?! A SIGN?! I can't just disappear on bruder like that, and I need to_

 _I had to stop writing. I was crying, and I don't know what that sentence was supposed to be._

She should really, really, really stop reading.

 _Pussies like Austria are supposed to cry over this stuff, not me! I just want to be back where I'm comfortable: with Germany and birdie and pushups and cleaning and quiet. As far away from here as possible. I'll never complain about being lonely again._

A pang of something hit the woman's heart and stomach as she read that. "Clustering is for losers" or something like that was what Prussia always said, and she always let him say it. The Hungarian always let him shy off into his corner of solitude and didn't really care for more than a second if he wanted to sulk while she was away with Austria. But now…now, she should stop reading.

 _I'll never write another entry about so and such abandoning me and them and those leaving me out if you can somehow get me out of here. Clearly, the walls are blocking out God, or he's busy or something, because he's not giving me anything to work with right now. So, I'm depending on you, Journal._

 _I want to go home._

 _I want to be home._

 _I need to be home. Wherever that is. So, help me._

With the journal entry declaring itself over by a simple goodbye to "Journal", the Hungarian re-folded the page and set it aside. She slapped her cheeks twice with her palms.

Okay, get it together Hungary, you can do better.

She was not going to get emotional over that stupid piece of paper she "never even saw". She was just going to put it back in the pile of "read" and ignore the bag of "unread" and pull out a pen. She was going to press the pen to a sheet of paper, and she was not going to wipe her eyes because she did not need to, and her face was not going to be wet. She was not hearing her heart beat in her ears and getting a little freaked out by it. She was certainly not eyeing the stretch of blue vein peaking to the surface of her skin and feeling a bubble of doubt form in her stomach, asking, "what if my people actually aren't in there?". She wasn't doing any of that. She was not going to pretend to be a poet, because she was not one for "piecing together" and-

Damn it, she was not tearing up right now! She was not going to feel bad because this was just Prussia, who she hated, and she honestly didn't give a damn what happened to him.

Unless he faded away.

NO! Even then she didn't care! She really didn't. She…she didn't…

Okay, maybe she did, A LITTLE, but either way the point was that she wasn't doing any of the above. Not feeling bad, or getting emotional, or tearing up, or being some wimpy little girl. No.

She was writing! Writing a non-poetic letter back home, and nothing else.

* * *

He was told he would be playing cards, but he was sat in front of a chess board, handed a set of dice, and read the rules for Sudoku. The two males on his team seemed equally confused by it all, and as the youngest gave up his last bill in monopoly money, the eldest slipped off his latter and down the chute to sudden death.

However, Estonia, the middle child, sat at the head of that chess board determined to win. There had to be some kind of order here, some something he could figure out – everything in life had a solution. He'd decided some time ago to simply observe instead of play, hiding behind door frames, or leaning over the unnoticed upper-banister, silently watching, taking note, and hoping the stars would finally tell him how to make sense of these people he was forced to live with.

Ukraine was easy; she was granted more immunity to the peril of the situation because of her blood relation to the symbolic king and queen of the household. She was relatively normal, save being a little over-inclined to cry, perhaps strategically, and being a little too optimistic to make logical sense. She was to be avoided because she was sheltered by the others. Belarus, also to be avoided, was his next mystery. The dark, cryptic, woman with her way of seeming completely empty in the brain one second and too intellectual the next took some time, but was figured out just the same.

The woman was, for whatever reason, quite infatuated with her elder brother. She claimed she was in love, but her love for her brother, in a way, was like Lithuania's "love" for the woman – illogical. As far as anyone could tell, both loves were unrequited and ended in heartbreak, but Belarus' was not just an affection of beauty like Lithuania's. She was not in love, she was _obsessed._ The woman failed to notice, or rather, failed to acknowledge the fact that her affection was one-sided, only making the insanity inside her sprout. Insanity that lead to her perhaps to being able to see ghosts, and seeking comfort in cardboard and television static when he brother didn't want her. It was this obsession to be with her brother that made her strive to act like him as well. She had violent tendencies, felt no guilt or remorse at hurting others, and was greatly pleased in seeing her brother do so too.

But Belarus, like Estonia, did not understand Russia fully. She may not have known she didn't understand, but Estonia feared she may be wrong to simply be violent for the sake of violence, because Russia was…complex. He was to be avoided, this was rule number one, but he lacked…intelligence. No, he was plenty smart, he knew exactly what he was doing to his victims and was an unfair bit too good at it, but...

Well there wasn't yet an end to that sentence. The Russian master's violence, aptitude to _smile_ when angry, and lack of compassion in general were initially written off as cruelty, villainy at its finest, but moments like this one made the man reconsider. It was the Russian's reaction to another nation's suffering that Estonia and Belarus alike didn't fully understand.

A nation often didn't know why they were suffering; they just would be. They would be fine one second and then have a migraine the next, or faint, or feel a horrible pain rack through their entire body, or feel a burning in their chest, or start _screaming at the top of their lungs_. When this occurred, they might know that there was a terrorist attack, or that thousands had died, or they might know there was a bombing, or a flood, or that a dividing wall had been erected overnight – or then again they might not.

They might just be confused and scared by their sudden disposition, or might relate it to something else. The nation got sick because of the pollen, not the economy. The nation was confused and scatter brained because they were tired, not because their government was undergoing structural changes and didn't know how to run itself. The nation was wailing as hard as he could because he had been tortured, and scared, and simply lost his resolve, not because of anything happening in his country.

Estonia figured Russia would love this. According to his calculations, Prussia, or should he now say the German Democratic Republic, was never kind to Russia. As children they were constantly at each other's' necks, Prussia causing a lot of suffering for the other. As they grew, and Prussia's focus shifted to over-watching the German unification, they stopped meeting on the battlefield quite so often, but bitterness grew between them. It was in this second world war that they met again, and Russia had suffered, _greatly_. So, his sadistic tendencies and hatred of Prussia would mean he would love to see him down. It was the next logical move in the game, but Russia from time to time would be reading from a different rule book.

"My comrade is…more hurt than I'd expected by this." The Russian's face genuinely looked saddened as he spoke, with an honest frown and authentic cloud of dread – not terror- surrounding him.

Estonia simply nodded in response. One rule was that it was best to agree, another being that to Russians, "comrade" was a very powerful word and relationship. What about the abusive, submissive, intrusive relationship made Russia and Prussia comrades, Estonia had yet to figure out, but he'd accept it for now.

"We just wanted to find a way to stop them," the Russian mused, looking with a depressed eye over his papers at the table, "and now even more people are trying to go."

Was Russia depressed because he knew Prussia was negatively affected, or because his plan had sort of back fired? By "stop them" did he mean "discourage them from leaving" or "trap them"? Too many uncertainties existed for anyone to try to wrap up the rule book.

"Prussia," Russia's smile intensified, welcoming a blackened cloud into the room, "will likely die if this goes on." Was he smiling because he wanted his prisoner dead; was he still holding grudges over the war and happy to see him fall? Why was GDR his comrade then? He would never want to see his comrade this miserable. No, this must be a smile of anger, or frustration, over the impossibility of the situation. He feels helpless that his dear friend was going to be in pain, and wants to help.

But, the bespectacled man had already concluded that Russia didn't understand compassion, so that didn't make much sense either.

"We will keep stopping them," the taller of the two continued (again with the word 'stop'), "by any means necessary."

"If no one else can flee, the GDR, he will have a steadier population." Now the word of focus was 'flee'. Flee meant they were running, from danger. So he understood that he was putting the German peoples in danger, right? He could see that they were suffering because of him? If that's the case, he must really not hold any concern for Prussia or anyone inside of him.

"Prussia won't feel so sick anymore, and will be able to play with me." Play like play or play like pipe?

"We already warned the people of what would happen if they kept trying to get past the block, so it's not my fault if they keep coming." Saying he wanted to block people in was a strong word. Was he using 'block' because he had built an actual, block-shaped thing, or because he understood it was interchangeable with 'imprison'?

"Should we…quit?" Estonia was not allotted time to answer. "No! We can keep all the people on my side!" Yes, Russia would encase them in communism, crush their spirits, and bash in the heads of anyone questioning his authority. He would make the German people divided, and miserable, and it would destroy the physical representation. The silver-haired nation currently below them would have to stay alive, only to suffer with his people, bound by literal chains to embody their figurative ones. Russia had resolved to make Prussia suffer, and it would be quiet, skillfully placed revenge for all of the suffering the other had caused his way just years ago.

"My boss will love it," the Russian concluded, patting himself on the back and playfully smiling for an evil-plot-well-done.

"It will keep everyone where they're supposed to be, and safe." With that sentence a barrage of mancala marbles and Tetris cubes drove into the Estonian's side, further complicating the game he was _clearly_ already losing. As Latvia entered the room they were in, Estonia plotted his escape so he could get out before he somehow did something wrong and lost in a more… painful way.

"Lativa,"

"Y-YES?! Yes, Mr. Russia?"

"Go and check on Prussia for me. The door from the basement is sound proof so he might need help and we'd never know it." And there was his chance.

"Yes Lativa, _let's_ go check," the Estonian commented, smiling and standing, "I know where Hungary left the key last time she went down there."

* * *

Not to be confused with loneliness, isolation is a good form of torture. The effects of it wore in very quickly, after about half a day alone, and it was very simple to enact (only requiring in this case a slot in a door to push food through and the key to a room that could only be unlocked from the outside). It was easy, quick, and effective.

Its effects involved hallucinations, and the Prussian knew this all from his years of military experience and study, so he was confused as to why he had yet to start hallucinating. Unfortunately, he'd only remembered to keep count of how many days he'd been in the basement when he forgot how many days he'd been in the basement. He lost count on the sixth, seventh, or eighth day, and now was the day that was somewhere between the twenty seventh and the thirty third. His isolation began on the twenty second or twenty fourth day, so it had been a fair bit of time, and this time made Prussia snigger. He was clearly immune to the effects of silly isolation, and the insanity it caused, because nothing had changed.

He was still in a damp, dark, cold room, and still almost always by himself. There was just him, four walls, and a floor that occasionally moved. There was the small window, about the size of four bricks, two side by side and two more on top of them, and it was about a height and a half above the Prussian's head, still providing little light. There was a ceiling, a small mattress on the ground, darkness, near silence, and hooks on the walls for chains. Nothing new.

Well, nothing too new. There was the rhinoceros, and she was new. She had walked into the room one day, and then she died. Her head just decided it was done and fell off, letting the body crumble to the ground in a big heap. The rhino remained there, slowly starting to decay with a pool of red-brown blood around it and a few flies attracted to the carcass. It stunk of death itself, and was just as grotesque, grey, and slimy-looking as it ought to be, so it was real.

There was also the voice that could not tell time, because the voice on the other side of the door would tell him things like that food would come in two minutes. Then, the Prussian would count and the food came rather early, 92 seconds early to be exact. He made his concerns clear to the voice, but the silly thing would always insist it waited a proper two minutes, so even the voice was confused whereas Prussia wasn't.

Then there was white light that someone kept flashing behind him, only to turn it off every time he spun around, and that was just some cruel prank. Likely, the work of Ensyde. Ensyde was a cat, cloud gray from top to bottom save what looked like a scarf of white around its neck and two indignant eyebrows. On his chest was a gigantic nametag reading "Hello, my name is Ensyde", the 'Ensyde' written in a hideous, mustard yellow.

Ensyde made his way from one end of the room to the other, effortlessly scooting around the glasses of substance (they appeared in the room one morning when Prussia awoke, likely Ensyde's fault), and sat in the corner, waving his tail in slow, rhythmic ticks.

Verdammt cat.

The cat cocked its head to the side, very slowly, and then puffed out its chest. _Look,_ Ensyde communicated without speaking, _what is my name?_ This animal spoke by excluding the process of opening its mouth or moving its tongue, all of its questions bouncing about the inside of Prussia's head. It was also quite annoying that Prussia, and Prussia's new "friend" had the exact same voice, but the albino considered the other far snarkier and dangerously curious.

"I know your damn name is Ensyde, and I don't care, so go join Ms. Rhino in death."

Ensyde laughed, or he would have laughed if he were not a cat, and with a long drag of his eyelashes in a blink, he asked his usual, stupid question, yet again. _What is your name?_

"I don't know." Ensyde rolled onto his back. "No, it's not Prussia. Prussia no longer exists." Ensyde began to shift about, rubbing his back on the ground to scratch it. "It's not a or the Teutonic Knights either. I haven't been called any of that in a long time." Now, the feline stopped scratching and floated to the ceiling. "Maybe." Ensyde walked across the ceiling to be nearer to Prussia. "I said maybe, damn it! Maybe it's East Germany. I can't be sure." His paws left the ceiling and landed again in the Prussian's lap. "I don't know when I'll be sure, but I'm not sure now, so I don't know. Shut up, Ensyde."

The cat's – the satanic little sadist of a cat's – response made the man take a sharp intake of breath as his maroon eyes went wide. He bucked his hips, sending the creature flying off his body, and away from his touch. Verdammt. Ensyde.

"No. It's not Gilbert. Gilbert is my human name, so if that's my name now, then I'm basically just a human." It twisted its nose side to side, jostling its whiskers until satisfied, and then responded. _Did I ask you **if** it was Gilbert, or did I ask you **what if** it was Gilbert? _ The question was rhetorical, and annoying, but it cleared up what Ensyde wanted him to say.

"Then I'd be human, I already said that." _What would you do if you were human?_ Ensyde purred quietly as he asked this, his golden-green eyes glistening with mischief. This is why Prussia was a bird person, even a dog person, but cats? Cats could all just go explode for all he cared. "Always with these questions you know I don't know the answer to. Go away, creature." In response, Ensyde simply stared, a bright emerald meeting a deep ruby, until the darker gem cracked.

"If I were human I guess I'd die. It might take a second but, it'd happen eventually I guess." Ensyde blinked. "'What else?' What do you mean 'what else'?" _Humans still live lives,_ the feline mused, licking his paw, _so what would yours look like_?

"I don't know. The same I guess. I'd hang around my friends and just wait it out." Ensyde, just to be a spiteful little beast, summoned his house. It was a boot, old and torn, but on the inside a cozy bed of feathers with a baby-blue blanket and eternal heat. It had a nametag, similar to Ensyde's, announcing its occupation as "Ensyde's Home".

"Yes I would." The cat floated himself into the mouth of the boot. "I would!" He stretched once inside and tucked his head under the blanket. "I would too stay around the countries! They're not gonna be like that, Ensyde." A grey tail made its way to the top and slung itself over the boot. "No, I…no. I won't…I mean, maybe at first, but, I'll get used to it. It'll be fine." A murmured purr met the Prussian's ears. "No! Being around humans will just make me feel stupid too! Each one of them I see will be from somewhere or act like someone, and they'll just remind me of what I'm avoiding. I'm not going to leave the nations."

 _Will you have purpose with them?_ The Prussian could feel his cheeks distorting, and possible wrinkles forming as the corners of his rosy lips downturned. Yes, of course he would have purpose, but for whatever reason, he didn't want to say that and instead just listened to the voice in the back of his mind. _When a world meeting occurs, what will you do? What if everyone is too busy with paperwork you no longer have?_ There was a stinging, as if hundreds of microscopic poles poked at the backs and insides of his eyes, begging to break free. _Will you get invited to nation's banquets if you are not a nation?_ Now his forehead was wrinkling too as his eyebrows tried to meet, and a pain in his chest where he'd forgotten to breathe.

 _Will they speak to you only out of moral obligation?_ He wasn't blinking and it intensified the sting; no, now he was blinking too much. His chest, heart, and lungs made themselves horribly present, seeming to turn into one big brick to force him to end his resistance in breathing. _Will they pity you behind closed doors?_ When he sucked in, he did so harshly, and heard the reminiscence of a sniffle. Now his eyes were really burning, and his ears were really ringing, and now he couldn't see. Blink more, no, that's not helping, blink less.

 _Would you be enough for them?_

The water escaped, a bit at first, and then all at once the flood gates opened and began copious downpour. Look what you did, you vile creature. Look at the tears you forced out of these stinging eyes, and feel bad.

Prussia picked up the nearest glass of substance and threw it at "Ensyde's Home"; it simply bounced off before floating right back to where it was on the ground before he touched it, none of the substance inside disturbed. A frustrated heat met his head, flowing from a burning in the chest, to a hot, unbearable lump in the throat, and a steaming behind the eyes.

"That's not true!" See what you did, you stupid, fucking cat? "I…they…" Prussia's nose was stinging thanks to the pest, the left nostril burning with the same heat behind his eyes, pained by the same tenseness in his chest. "Shut your mouth."

Look at him, cat. You did this. How many times had you been told to be quiet? To go away? But you stayed and you kept asking and now you've brought this upon yourself.

"West will-" Ensyde cut him off by abruptly jumping out of bed. "Be quiet. Go away. West will too help me." With a cock of his condescending head, Ensyde asked, _but will he want to?_

A sharp intake of breath - pointed enough to slice the Prussian's body into two halves - overtook him. The floor was running, the room was spinning, and the cat was grinning. Goddamn creature. Stupid, ugly, heinous creature.

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY MY BROTHER WON'T HELP ME!" _Did I say that_ Ensyde asked in a coo and upward pitching of his voice.

No, he had not said that. He never said anything, always just asked, and forced the Prussian to think, and compelled him to believe. He never claimed or pushed or insinuated anything, but at the same time that's all he did. The man's head was pushing in on itself, throbbing at the tension. He really hated this snide, base, moronic cat.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, ANIMAL!" The pale body racking with sobs was demanded to see and realize things it had buried beneath confidence in the opposite, and he was not going to stand for it. Prussia pressed his eyes shut in an effort to evade Ensyde, though knowing he was still present, but popped them open when he heard a jingling noise.

Keys. Keys to the door of his cell were right outside jingling away. There was only on person who came in here: it was going to be 'him'. And there were yells, cries out in agony coming from somewhere. Who had 'he' just tormented to make them wail like that? No. God, no. It was too soon. 'He' had just come the day before; it was too soon!

The bloodcurdling scream echoing loudly and harshly off the four walls of his tiny confine. The person's voice sounded like their throat was raw, burning, and it sent a bout of panic to the wide, reddened eyes. No, please no, anything but this. He was not one to cower, or cry, or fear, but it was just too damn soon! The shouting continued, ringing, louder and louder cutting off all his senses but a painful jostling of his skull at every shout, every time the culprit would suck in breath and force another strained cry for help.

The voice came; it said something from behind the door but it was too loud in the room to hear. The door opened, and it would be 'him'. Prussia knew it would be 'him' and tried to sit still, tried to make his tiny, crumpled body look stronger and bigger than it was. Why did he have to be fucking crying right now? That stupid cat, and its stupid words. Prussia was enough, he had always been enough, and he would continue to be enough, and…and he didn't want to think about this.

There was a voice nearing him. The voice. The voice came in the cell, except that it had a body, that of a cute, little boy. It wasn't the 'him' Prussia was waiting for.

The screams didn't stop and the little boy looked panicked and spoke in a tone Prussia could not hear. His throat was hurting from crying, and he covered his ears, but the screaming in that way only grew stuffy, yet louder. 'He' would come soon, Prussia was sure. 'He' would come and plot against him with Ensyde, and kill him with 'his' pipe. Then what would be of Prussia? A forgotten memory? No. No one would forget him. Even if he had no home, no rightful place, no role in life, and even if he wasn't enough; they would not forget him. Not his brother, or his friends, or his bird, or anyone else. Ensyde…had to be wrong. He would see; in a few seconds when the albino lost his life, the cat would see how wrong it was.

Two hands that were not Prussia's met the sides of his face. They squeezed on his cheeks and the sounds of the screams faltered. The hands forced his mouth shut, silencing the screams Prussia now understood had been his all along, but he couldn't stop. He heaved wails to the surface, bound by the barrier of a shut mouth, but aching his sore throat all the same. He couldn't breathe but to release another cry, he couldn't see but a blurry outline of the little boy holding him, rocking him back and forth. 'He' was coming, but Prussia would be enough. The man would die, but he would not go forgotten.

"Shhhh, it's okay," the voice cooed. What was okay? 'He' was coming! The voice held one hand behind his back and another running soothingly through his hair.

'He' was coming. 'He' was still coming. 'He' was just around the corner. 'He' would storm in here, and make the pleasant voice leave, and then kill Prussia.

 _And would anyone **really** notice? _Stupid cat.

The unfamiliar hand was not on his jaw, so an albino's mouth found itself open, and the man with his dirty, silver hair and tired, droopy eyes took what little he was worth and blared it all out into the confine in one final scream till his voice was too burned to force anymore.

Ensyde (if not a cat, would have) giggled, but agreed to silence their thoughts and questions for a while. Too short a while.

* * *

"When I leave this world, I [will] leave with no regrets. Leave something to remember, so they won't forget; I was here. I lived. I loved. I was here." -Beyonce. Music is so powerful, and I keep finding more and more astounding songs that seem to fit this story. Do you guys have any you'd like to share?

I was really scared writing this and tempted to send it to some betas and get more opinions, and in theory that's a good idea, but I write to improve. I don't want betas to just fix every major thing I do wrong. I good idea here and a spelling or grammar check there, okay. If I do something that makes absolutely no sense or loses focus of the original story *cough*, alright, please correct me. But, when I know what I'm doing and trying to make amends, I don't know, I just wanted to see if I could do it by myself. I'd rather fail and try again than never fully understand my failure in the first place because someone just fixed it for me. So did I? What do you guys think of it all? The next chapter is proobbbaaabblllyy still going to be at Russia's house (sorry), but I'm really getting near the end of this arch. Really.

Okay, you guys, this does not at all pertain to the story, but I just read something so sick and so **_vile_** (it was a HetaFanfiction in which [spoilers but I'm not even telling you what story or characters it is so…] character A was in love with Character B's dad/brother/grandad/uncle [not being specific], relative dies, and so character A forced character B to have sex with him. It wasn't exactly rape, Character B had a choice, but not really, because if they didn't do it, Character A would not offer B the economical help they needed to survive.) And I am shaking and screaming and emotionally distraught. I should be doing so much homework right now but I just have to say this: if anything traumatic has ever happened to you, anything on any level, I am so sorry. You don't have to endure your pain alone, feel free to tell someone who you love and trust; they will help. Someone out there wants to make it better for you. And I am just so, so, very sorry for any pain my readers have ever felt. I'm so shaken up after READING **fiction** about it, so I can't even begin to imagine experiencing something like that. You are truly strong if you've made it even a step after something so terrible.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this longer chapter, sorry it took me so long to write again, and **_review all your lovely thoughts for me! :D_**


	13. The Eyes and Adelina

Well, hello there. Remember me? Let's see, it's been three months and…actually, almost 4 months since I've updated. Haha.

Okay, so, I know it's been about a billion years since I've last updated this story. I SWEAR TO YOU I was working on it the whole time. It really is hard to get myself to be satisfied with a chapter, so I'm sorry this took so long and isn't even like…anything. Coming soon is summer, where I'll have less school, more time, and will therefore hopefully be able to update more and maybe even finish my story before summer ends? Let's not hold me to that one, but, just, sorry for the wait. Here ya go.

My issue with writing this chapter was that I wanted it to be as good as the last chapter, but the issue with that was simply that I didn't even think the last chapter was all that special. Responses from it were extremely heartwarming, as y'all are all a bunch of lovelies, but I didn't think it would be anything too special. So, consequentially, I didn't know how to rub off some of that specialness into this chapter. I eventually just had to let go, write the best I could, and now I'm just hoping it's worth the read.

 **I always have to ask myself "is there enough emotion?" and while I sort of don't think there is, I dare not make you all wait for another month. So here. Read it. *runs and hides***

 **6/5/17 EDITS** \- I always claim when I get critique that like "oh yea, I'll fix that!" and then I don't. Well, I actually did for once! It's all small stuff. No one should have to go back and read this chapter again. But to new readers, hello! To the old, I'll be updating soon-ish maybe :)

* * *

 _ **These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal Chapter 13 - The Eyes and Adelina**_

* * *

Germany ran his fingers over the almost perfectly smooth wood. It was sanded flat so that only the tiniest of corrugations were left to tickle his skin. Overtop this sandy wood was a layer of cold, white paint. Or well, he was certain white was what it once was. There were now chips in the paint towards the bottom of the sign, contradicting the smooth texture. A fleck of white that was turned into a cream color caught on his ring finger, and fell to the leaf-lined ground.

The sign was cracked in the top left corner, but otherwise a perfect square with a line of yellow along the outer edge. Some of the black paint made to make the message had also chipped, but it could still be read. It was an old thing, maybe hung here three or five decades ago. In the sign's glory days, it was probably loved by Adelina, a girl whose name was painted onto it. The sign begged in some man's place that Adelina marry him. The sign's brothers and sisters bore messages for Adelina involving wishes for four children, the house they would live in, and the love they would share.

Germany could imagine the day Adelina found these signs. Her tears slipping from her face, and into the crumpled leaves on the ground as her heart swelled. Her eyes probing along the forest for her love - the man behind this sign's creation. Her skin accepting the cool, rain-scented breeze that was ever-present in this land, and her hair flapping though it. He could sense Adelina's joy.

So, why did the sign annoy him so? Why did he think of these mementos as nothing more than litter in the forest? And the most appalling fact of it all was that the man wasn't willing to remove the signs because he couldn't be damned enough to care about this forest. This forest in – well actually, he was only lead out of his car because he realized he was lost, so he hadn't known where it was besides that it was between Berlin and Dresden. This forest, that was his. A patch of land that was represented somewhere on his body.

His heart was all of the bumping footsteps of the people in Berlin, his first, left knuckle was a small town near Hamburg, and he was the land of Germany. He knew himself. If he were lost in Rhine Valley he could glance at the back of his hand, or use his nation sense to find his way out. He was Germany, and he was in Germany, so he should be able to do this! He should have been able to traverse the land that was technically inside himself, and he should have been able to love Adelina and the man and these signs and this forest.

But all of it was lost to him. All of the repeating greens and yellows of these trees were not easing his mind, but boring it to sleep. Getting lost in sleep got him lost in general as he tried to drive with one eye open, but he'd never expected to lose his way anyways. How could he? He knew this land like the back of his hand, or his foot, or his thigh, or his hair's natural part down the middle that made gelling it in the mornings a little more difficult than it had to be. He was supposed to know all of his land, and love all of his people, and share in all of their happiness.

So why didn't he when he imagined this girl? It was as if Adelina wasn't even his child. As if this girl with the clearly German name, who's soon-to-be fiancé wrote in German, was some other nation's citizen. It was like the land he stood on was represented nowhere on him.

Of course, if this really wasn't his land, a dark, dreary, empty forest would bore his tired mind. In that instance, flashes of yellow on signs could be irritating. But this wasn't that instance. He was in his eastern half, but it _felt like_ an entirely different place. This sign, with smooth sanding on the left edge and a slight bump on the right, felt entirely foreign. He didn't feel anything for Adelina, one of his citizens, that he should have. It made the man feel undeniably guilty.

He set the sign back onto the branch of the dilapidated tree he'd pulled it from. As he did, he heard a shuffle of paper; it was his mail. He had brought it and placed it in his pocket because he was in such a rush to leave that morning. A single letter, addressed directly to him, was opened.

 _Germany, what the hell are you doing?_

The sender knowing his real name, rather than his human alias, did not make him uncomfortable. Neither did the fact that he was getting cursed at immediately. He swallowed, looked at "Adelina" in a carefully scripted font on the sign, and then proceeded reading.

 _Your brother wanted to write to you, so I'm having to attempt to do that for him, but you should know you two are irritating me a great deal._

He looked up again at the sign. Was "Adelina" with a heart for the dot of the "I" mad at him…and his brother apparently, for not loving her properly? Was her image in this forest and that sign on the tree branch the reason he felt this way? His eyes jumped to the end of the page to find a quickly scrawled "Hungary". Why was she, of all people, upset with him?

 _First him with all of his lies, and now you insist on delaying our release._

At least she had a roof over her head at all. At least Germany was still trying for her, and trying to get Adelina and all of her people back on his side. At least he was trying to figure out why he no longer felt the way he should for his own land and his own people and his own body.

 _We don't have full access to outside news or anything, but I'm not entirely cut off. I can see that it's been ages. When are you or America or France or whoever the hell going to get us out of here?_

 _First of all, your brother shf eheabd hefbhae ab bej fhsedjs eh sbef_

Germany caught his eyes playing tricks on him, focusing and refocusing in the light of the sun filtering through the trees. He blinked, several slow times, and with wide eyes, dared the paper again.

 _…whoever the hell going to get us out of here? First of all, your brother… Hungary – P.S. Do not reply to this._

He stood there, holding the page for a moment, processing, before he realized he had read the whole thing without reading it. He sighed, shook his head lightly to dislodge whatever nonsense had taken hold of and distracted his brain, and tried again. From the start.

 _Germany, what the hell are you doing? Your brother wanted to write to you, so I'm having to do that for him, but you should know you two are irritating me a great deal. First him with all of his lies, and you insist on delaying our release. We don't have full access to outside news or anything, but I'm not entirely cut off. I can see that it's been ages. When are you or America or France or whoever the hell going to get us out of here?_

 _First of all, your brother, your idiot elder brother, is_

The page went out of focus.

Germany, a little frustrated at this point, folded the note and placed it back into its envelope. He slid the torn envelope into his jacket's inner pocket and decided to be on his leave. He had to get out of this rotten forest – or, no, he meant…antique. He had to leave this beautiful, antique forest and the…the…nostalgic signs behind. There was no time for Hungary and Adelina to shout at him. The letter would be easier to deal with when…when he had his reading glasses. Yes. That's what he needed.

He opened his car door, and slid inside. He looked at "Adelina", and then to his glove compartment. It's not like he didn't know there was a glasses case in there, he just had a feeling it was empty. His glasses were probably on his bedside table, and he was far too lost to just go home and get them. Adelina was not going to be mad at him. This forest wasn't going to confuse him. Hungary wasn't going to worry him. He'd wait until he had glasses to deal with this mess.

* * *

"Germany-san, there's a letter here addressed to you," a Japanese man standing behind the island in Germany's kitchen commented. It wasn't odd that there was a letter for Germany in Germany's house, it was odd that it was the only thing out of place in the otherwise pristine home.

"Ah, that. I started to look at it, but never got through the entire thing", he feigned being too busy with highlighters at his place at the kitchen table to pay it much mind, "could you read it out to me?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," it was probably the only way he'd ever get through the damn thing, considering the fact that he'd attempted in vain four more times since his getting out of wherever he was lost, "it shouldn't be anything confidential."

"Right, well then," his nimble fingers found the tear in the top of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of thin, quickly scrawled on paper. He began to read.

" _August 19, 1962_

 _Germany, what the-"_ A silence pulled the German man from his trivial highlighting. He considered the black and empty eyes that had ceased reading to check in on him. Japan wished he could see the taller man properlu, but with his behind faced to him as Germany hunched over his papers, Japan could only study the muscle fibers of his back.

"It's fine," the German assured, "I've already read most of it. I know what to expect."

"Okay, if you're sure, then - _Germany, what the hell are you doing? Your brother wanted to write to you, so I'm having to do that for him, but you should know you two are-"_ he paused again to regain his gall, _"are irritating me a great deal. First him with all of his…lies, and you, you insist on… on delaying our release. We don't have full access to outside news or anything, but I'm not entirely cut off. I can see that it's been ages. When are you or America or France or whoever the hell going to get us out of here?"_

There was a long pause wherein which Germany did not bother to cease highlighting, but he could feel eyes upon him.

 _"First of all, your brother, your… idiot elder brother, is going to die in this house."_ Again, eyes bore into the German's back. He was very careful not to stir. Nothing to stir about after all; it was just a letter from a woman who didn't know what she was talking about that he simply hadn't found the time to read on his own.

 _"Russia feels, and constantly tells him, that he is now representative of the eastern half of Germany, and while he's not too sure, I believe it. I'm just going to assume you already know this, as I imagine you can feel when you lose half your land and population to another. So, as I'm sure you can see, this is really…"_

Japan had paused reading yet again and found himself looking wearily across the kitchen at his old ally. The granite countertop he'd had his hands rested on suddenly felt ice-cold. _"_ Germany-san?"

"Yes?"

"I do think you should be reading this. It seems sort of personal, and I'm not exactly comfor-"

"It's fine." It'd come out sharper than he intended, but he wanted Japan to read it. He needed him to. Having someone else do it for him meant he didn't have to stop what he was doing for it. And it would mean his reaction was in someone else's presence, and would be forced to be a little more…he shook his head lightly dismissing the first word that came to it, 'controlled'. He could control himself with or without Japan; he was a grown man after all. He just needed someone to save him time. That was all. "Please, read on, Japan."

"…Hai," Japan stated timidly, letting his voice fade behind him as he yet again studied the muscles on the German's back through his thin t-shirt. There was no extra movement. A shift in the right trapezius as the light squeak of the highlighter hit the page, and other than that, motionless. He looked back down at the paper.

 _"So as I'm sure you can see, this is really killing him."_ Germany's back twitched now.

 _"He insists on not informing you of this, but you should know, Germany. It seems like every time someone dies to the red guard, h_ \- uhmm, I mean…. _he has a bit of a panic attack."_ The almond-shaped, watchful eyes did not miss a strain in the shoulders as the blond took a larger than necessary gulp of air _._

 _"When the wall first went up he had this whole episode that Latvia described to me as probably hallucinating about something he kept calling "Ensyde", and then… losing his mind screaming."_ The chair Germany was in shifted, making a loud, screeching noise on the floor.

"Are you sure this is okay, Germany-san?" Germany held a dryness in his mouth that made it difficult to pull his tongue from the roof of it. The sweat that had collected on his hand from the highlighter made the stupid thing difficult to hold, and the slight tremors in his hands were no help. He nodded. _"Again, I can't watch the news too carefully, but from what I've seen, his outburst are all reactionary."_

 _"I don't know what your plans are Germany, or for how much longer you're going to keep-"_ Japan broke off again, not wanting to continue with the parcel. His line of sight shifted to a blond man who was fidgeting ever so slightly in an oak chair, scared of the upcoming accusations. The blonde's stomach ran away from him in an attempt to recede itself into a tight corner of his body, and the man could feel his rapid heartbeat in his temples. He wanted to tell his friend to keep reading, but his mouth was still dry, and would not open.

The silence collected in the air between them, thickening into an unbearable paste. A page's crinkling sound echoed through it as black irises again found the black text. _"How much longer you're going to keep twiddling your thumbs, but we can't take this-"_

There was an inaudible sigh. They weren't his thoughts. He just had to remind himself that he was doing exactly what Germany told him to, and that these weren't his thoughts. He had to watch how Germany's back would twitch this time, or how his hands would tremble, or how his head would droop from these thoughts. These thoughts that, he again reminded himself before resuming reading, were not his. _"we can't take this **suicide** anymore." _

Germany didn't twitch, rather, his neck spasmed entirely. He seemed to have noticed Japan saw this, and thus twisted his head to the other side, waiting till a loud crack was heard. The other man, with the slightest hint of concern on his brow, and a barely visible frown on his otherwise perfectly straight lips, continued reading.

 _"First they split you two up, Prussia's idiot Chancellor is forced to join Warsaw, they cut off supplies…_ but the airlift settled that." Japan added with some hopefulness.

 _"the connection between east and west was completely cut off, and now, a literal wall. I genuinely think"_ He read ahead on the conglomeration of accusations before him, and then recited the seething phrase from memory, eyeing that back intently.

" _Russia's trying to kill him,"_ Japan said, slowly, watching Germany cap his highlighter as he did, _"and I know your half is economically prospering, but I hope you weren't planning to,"_ he observed with his keenest eye, _"leave your brother out to dry."_

Germany swallowed. There was some pain to squeezing his hands together that tightly, but it was the only way they wouldn't shake. His mouth opened, and he wished to speak, but his wishes as of late tended not to want to come true. He was doing everything he could; _everything he could_ to get his country back into one piece. And now, the crumpled letter with chicken scratch hand writing dared to tell him it wasn't his country anymore. That Dresden, and half of Berlin, and Adelina's signs all belonged to his brother, and that that's how he got lost and bored there.

He realized his forehead hurt from his downturned eyebrows, but he couldn't stifle his anger long enough to settle his expression. The letter dared to tell him as his fingernails dug into the skin on his knuckles, that he was abandoning his brother. His blood. The man who raised him and taught him to be who he was. The loveable idiot he always took the time to apologize for, and stress himself out for, and watch over – was somehow being abandoned to dry and shrivel up to nothing in the icy sun of a Russian winter. Somehow his efforts meant absolutely nothing. The man spoke, but only in tongues of silence with his voice caught in his throat, and black eyes focused on his tense, trembling back.

"Germany-san," he received no response, "could you please look here?" There was a pause, a long one, but eventually Germany twisted in his chair and blue and deep brown met. With their eyes locked, Germany realized he was being scrutinized. Where his eyes opened too wide? His lips shaking? He broke the eye contact to glance at the man's chin instead.

Japan's eyes were not something he wanted focused on him. They were too empty, and too knowing; they saw nothing and everything all at once. They lacked the lifted or drooped eyelids of an expression, or the shine of a thought. Empty, and dark, and black, but when one saw them this close, the black wasn't flat black, but a sort of swirling black, grey, and brown that knew something you didn't. They studied you too carefully and in an instant, could see parts of your soul you had forgotten were there.

And the eyes saw someone who was small, and scared. A child of a nation trapped in an adult body that couldn't hide under the covers when things fell apart.

Neither of their faces moved, Japan's because he was too busy focusing on the still slightly red, flustered, and defensive one before him – Germany's because he was too busy trying to figure out how to come back from this moment of having lost himself. He decided simply to turn from those probing eyes, reclaim his seat, and wave his hand dismissively. He scoffed for a this-is-not-that-serious effect.

"Of course she would say something like that. I'll talk with her later," another scoff, just in case, "on with it. Read."

Japan noted that Germany would not normally _demand_ things of him, but instead of voicing this concern, he returned to the paper.

 _"Poland and I have discussed making an escape to get back to our people, but Prussia can't leave with us. Russia keeps him locked in the basement, and he's far too weak to get out on his own."_ Did the monotonous manner of Japan's speech make the words better or worse? Would it have burned brighter or caused Germany's heart to trip over itself even more if this was all being said with or without the intended emotion?

 _"If our escape plans slip up even a little we'll be completely damning ourselves. Therefore, Poland and I will wait six more months."_ That wasn't long at all. He could barely plan something this elaborate in six months, better yet initiate it. Maybe it'd of seemed longer if Japan had elongated and exaggerated it. Something like, 'Poland and I will wait six…more… s…..

M

O

N

T

H

S'.

No. That didn't help. He was still scared.

 _Show us some kind of improvement by then and we won't risk trying to leave."_ The Japanese man shook his head at this letter. He never would have guessed some nation out there would have audacity quite like this. It was just so demanding. So exacting _. "Also, Prussia needs it."_ And it came with a guilt trip. _"If there isn't an improvement soon, I don't know how much longer he's going to last in the house."_ And they finish it off by putting the weight of another's life on his shoulders. Very clever – he glanced to the end of the note to see who'd written it – Hungary.

It was rare, on his end as her friend at least, to see the woman so angry in this fashion. Passionate and reactionary anger he had seen many times before, but this anger was one she couldn't take out on anything. She couldn't hit it. He supposed the passion and reaction formulated in the scathing letter that she maybe hadn't even realized was so harsh when she'd first written it.

 _"He's your brother, and now your second half; you should worry about him."_

"Wha-" Germany began. His voice caught again behind the sheet someone put in his throat. His mouth fluctuated, as he tried to speak, or even breathe. He _did_ worry. He did! Why, he thought, his eyes reddening and watering in fury, could no one see that? Did they not notice his trips to Berlin, and talks with his bosses, and pleads to America, and days without sleep, and plucked grey hairs, and tears shed in the night? Why were Adelina, his chancellor, his Hungarian friend, his people, and the allies, and his _brother_ worst of all, angry with him? What more could he do?! Two light puffs of air were all he could filter through the block of frustration.

Japan continued reading.

 _"I guess Poland and I haven't been your best friends in all the world, but I do know you, Germany, and I know you're trustworthy, and that I don't have anyone else I can depend on."_ Germany stiffened, tightening his hands into painful fists _._ What more could he do?

 _"I'm not going to lie to you and write about how okay and perfect and great everything is over here,"_ Germany remained stiff with his jaw locked as he feared the heat collecting in his eyes. What else did they expect?

 _"because you know it isn't,"_ still stiff and unblinking. What more could he give?

 _"and you need to fix it."_ Somehow, he was stiffer. What else could he fix on his own?!

His chest tightened, just between the pecks; lungs begging for air he refused to deliver. It was goddamn embarrassing to have tears streaking down his face right then, and he was not going to sit at his own kitchen table and _sob_. He'd rather just choke, because what more could he do? Give the man six months and he'd still rather sit there and wait to suffocate than be _held_ and _consoled_ for crying _again_ when his people needed him.

Where was his backbone? His people should not have been doing pole vault competitions in high school track meets as an excited audience encouraged them with chants of "over the wall!". He should not have felt _pity_ at the story of a man who sat on his roof every night to look over the divide and see his wife sitting on her roof too. He should have been enraged and invigorated! He should have figured all of this out before this letter even had time to find itself being crafted, but he had yet to even figure out how he was going to wipe his face without Japan noticing.

 _"_ And then there's a dash," the man who couldn't notice this continued, "and it says _Hungary_ , so we can presume it's from her. It ends with, _P.S. Do not respond to this."_ Japan set the letter down on the granite. There was a small number four written in the corner, a trademark for her indicating that it was her fourth attempt writing or sending this letter.

It had been four months after Prussia first told her to "piece together" correspondence home that it finally made it home.

It was just four drops of salty water that had made their ways down past trembling lips. Germany looked to the ceiling now that he was regaining hold of his body's controls, and breathed slowly. The throbbing of his furious headache ceased, and his heart found a normal pace to beat at. His eyes scanned the table for something that could help him, and he found his capped highlighter, a document from two years ago that he'd highlight for little reason, and a glass of beet juice. Perfect.

"Thank you for reading that off. Hungary? Or, I mean, hungry? We ought to order in." The eyes were on him, but he told himself they did not make him nervous. Nervous of what anyways? There was nothing for Japan to find, or even to bother to look for. Germany raised his glass and "accidentally" missed his mouth entirely, pouring the red juice all over himself. Japan observed silently as his friend stood and rushed to the bathroom a ways away from the kitchen.

He seemed to move in a manner that insisted his face not be seen.

* * *

"Fine then, a little something." With that the two men left the lofty music room and made their ways down the hall.

The 'little something' the German man had decided on to eat was cereal. Austria tried to serve him, but he insisted on getting it himself, guest or not. As the two got to talking, Germany got himself settled in. First, he retrieved a bowl.

"Not much, Germany. It's just been a little quiet around here without the frequent visits."

"Visits from who?" Then the German man poured the flakes into his bowl while ignoring the fact that his disobedient hands were still trembling.

"…from Hungary. I recently got a letter from her, but, I just haven't seen her face in so long. And, I do see Liechtenstein occasionally, but whenever I do I tend to speak of Hungary and it makes her sad." Austria shut his eyes and allowed his mind to fill with reminiscent qualities of his ex-love. The gold and amber streaks in her chestnut-colored hair. Her big, beautiful, shimmering, olive eyes.

At the thought of her sultry whisper and nectar-sweet laughter he found his fingers tracing the high arching 'n' and low looping 'y' in her name over and over on the table with a bitter smile. H-U-N-G-A-R-Y. Germany placed a spoon to the left of his bowl.

"I'm sure you get it, Germany," the Austrian continued, still tracing light letters on the smooth glass of his table, "I know everyone in the west is trying for her, but I wish I had the financial capita to do more."

Germany supposed he was expected to say "me too", but, he didn't comment.

He had the financial capita to do all he could do, so he would do all he could do, and everyone would stop questioning him for it. He was not about to dread stupidly and trace the characters of Preußen when he knew that that wasn't going to change everything – or anything, actually. He was doing the best he verily could and everyone just needed to start understanding that.

He made his way to the Austrian man's fridge, and opened it.

Germany stared into it, motionless, for so long that Austria noticed him doing so. The man shifted his weight left, then right, up, and down. He reached a hand into the cool fridge and shuffled a few jugs and Tupperware containers around; each one made scraping sounds as plastic slumped past plastic in the tight spaces.

He closed the fridge, and Austria took some relief in knowing the other man was done wasting his power. He continued running his fingertip against the table and mused to a time when they'd done that together. She came up from behind him and wrote, very slowly, an invisible message on the wood. Once he pieced the letters together in his head, he wrote back. For what felt like eternity, they "wrote" on that table and played with pocking each other, slapping hands, and soliciting giggles. The man could still feel her warm and soft cheek pressing against his at a time when they had time to be in love.

"I miss her," he stated, more to himself and the table than anyone.

Of course Austria missed her. Anyone would miss her. _Germany_ missed her. Her with her brutal strength, and the spunk she adopted when she decided she could be a woman, and not be stepped on by men at the same time. Her with her long hair and beautiful eyes; a rare dose of femininity added to the sausage fest that was the world personified. She was strong both in muscle and in heart, and she was a light that the other female nations needed. She inspired them to stand up for themselves, to not be afraid to have a character past "girl", and to be who they needed to be for their people.

Austria missed her, and Germany missed her, and little Liechtenstein who undoubtedly looked up to her as a wise older sister missed her, and Switzerland would never admit it, but he missed her.

Anyone who'd ever known him missed him! They missed his stupid, annoying ass laughter, and they missed when he would feed the indignant bird because that damn thing didn't want to be fed by Germany and would peck at his fingers, and they missed having someone to help them clean who genuinely enjoyed the task. He missed an annoying voice to push him in his workout. He missed lightly mocking the strange coloration of red eyes, silver hair, and pasty white skin.

The world wanted them to be missed. The Germans started another war now they were being punished for it by having to miss their loved ones across the wall or across the continent. If they weren't chastised just enough to break their spirits, but not enough to anger them, his people would surge again. His nation would rise up and he would feel that familiar, elating, and horrifying feeling of nationality flooding to and filling his veins.

His nation had to be treated the way it was treated now because he couldn't feel that again. He couldn't keep sipping on poison to enjoy the high it gave him because eventually he'd sip too much and end himself. It didn't make him happy; it was a terrible, disorganized, belittling system that made him want to, and in some cases brought him to, rip his hair out.

But it was the system. And it involved Russian control of certain places and that was not his fault. He was in no position to question it. So why for all of his life were Prussia and Hungary and some of his people and Adelina and now Austria questioning the very system that was saving his life?!

He couldn't question the system. He was supposed to miss Prussia.

But, he wished he could know that his brother _could_ be there, even if he wasn't.

"There's no milk," Germany announced, with an air of unnatural calmness to his voice and stiffness in his face.

"Okay, well-"

"It's just frustrating, Austria!" Germany said. Or rather, he thought he'd said it but he'd more so screamed it.

"I try!" he went on, still yelling, "I try to have milk in my fridge but sometimes I can't!"

"This is my hou-"

"Try as I might, sometimes things get taken away. Sometimes the system requires that Germany doesn't have any milk! And I'm okay with that, I am! And so are my people!"

"Germany-"

"And no matter how terrible it is that now I can't have cereal, or milk and cookies, or bake cakes, because I have no milk, I eat other things and we abide by the system, and let _Russia_ have the milk because that's the system!"

"Germany."

"And we hate the system!"

"Germany!"

"BUT THAT'S THE SYSTEM!"

 **"DEUTSCHLAND!"** The man was thrown from his thoughts when he realized he was crumping the _iron plated door of a refrigerator_ in his hands. He looked at Austria who was staring at both him and his destroyed appliance in silent terror. Germany set the door, which was now about the size of a beach ball, in front of the fridge.

His hands were bleeding. Dots of red seeped from the joints in his fingers to either side of the spaces between each one. Drops of bloody, fallen people – real _people_ with thoughts and emotions and families – all drowning in their own vitality on either side of that wall. Shot down as they tried to enter their own home, left only to drip onto the hardwood floors of a chilly, Austrian kitchen.

"I will pay to replace that."

"Germany, what happened?"

"I just…I…," the man sighed, ran his bloodied hand over his hair forgetting to care about the flecks of red that might catch in it and mar his appearance, "I'm doing the best I can." He only had his power and his money to work with. What could his money do but the bare minimum to save his or his brother's country? What could his power do but allow his new "allies" to worry about their own nations first, and take as long as they so desired to subdue Russian forces? He pulled the fridge out from the wall and looked on the back of it for a brand name, wondering if the company would even sell him just the right side's door. A bright rose color was now smeared on a white label reading "Liebherr".

"I know you are," the raven-haired man stated. He had gotten up from the H-U-N-G he'd begun on the table and now rested that hand on the German man's tired shoulder, "…and I'm sorry."

"I'll have the fridge taken care of by Monday," he replied. As for rest, he feared he'd never get that into order.

* * *

"Italy, this doesn't make any sense," Germany observed. And it didn't. He was studying a proposal the Italian boy was considering taking to his boss that he had first asked Germany to proof read. Surprised by his friend's initiative for once to actually do his job, and needing a distraction from the name "Adelina" and his hungry stomach craving only cereal, Germany made his way over to look.

"How so?" Italy asked from his spot on one side of the table for two they had at a small restaurant.

"Well, it's beneficial to your half of the country, yes, but why would the tax reduction only apply to the north? Not applying it to the south would entice people to move north increasing your population and income, but simultaneously sabotaging your brother."

"Ah," Italy noted, absent-mindedly spinning the straw from his milkshake in a now empty glass, "it does look like sabotage, doesn't it?" The usual up down swinging of his tone that made his words sound like song wasn't present. "How do I fix that?"

"Just extend the tax reductions nationally."

"No, I mean, how do I make it not look like sabotage?"

"You don't want it to look like sabotage?"

"Correct."

"…but…you still want to sabotage him?"

Italy didn't answer immediately. He seemed to find the straw swishing around brown, melted liquid more intriguing than their conversation, or perhaps swishing the straw just made that sad smile a little less sad.

"How's Prussia?"

"Italy, you haven't answered-"

"Fratello will be mad at me if I don't find out. He hasn't said it, but he seems to want to know. He keeps mentioning him…," the sad smile upturned just the slightest bit more, "it's good to see him making more friends."

"Prussia is fine," Germany lied with as much brevity as he could. He was growing impatient with the food that had yet to come out.

"Oh that's good! When will he be back? I really hope he can see Fratello soon~!" His statements seemed to be something he should be excited about, and he said them now with the same bubbliness he'd always had, but he wasn't very good at faking his joy in his face.

"Why?"

"I just want Fratello to make sure he sees all his friends as much as he can in..." Italy broke off, catching himself almost saying something he hadn't meant to, "well, just soon."

"Why soon? You say this like he's got somewhere to go."

Italy sipped the last of his milkshake and then used the straw to scrape the excess from the sides of the cup. He used his time to sip that too. The man had been aging since the end of the war: where he once had his smooth baby-face, he owned bags under the lackluster eyes, black circles, and the shadow of crow's feet lightly etched in beside the eyes that had no more cheer. He still mostly looked to be in his twenties, just tired, difficult twenties with years in his tens that had not been so kind to him.

"How can I fix the proposal?"

"Italy, you were all smiles until we started discussing this and now there's something you're not telling me. Why are you being so cryptic regarding your brother?"

After a minute of full silence, Germany took the milkshake cup from him, leaving Italy with only his hands to fiddle with.

"I fear that if I can't…deepen the divide between north and south that we'll…unify."

Italy said "unify" like they were broken. Like they weren't both a part of the same country, and weren't having to worry about the Adelina's of their land, and the refrigerator door, and installation costing more than just replacing the fridge.

"Isn't unification a good thing? Wouldn't you want all of the country to be equally prosperous?"

"Yes, but my side has always been…we've always had different talents and interests. But, now with schools and people moving, anyone can learn to excel at anything they want, and natural disasters can be prepared for, and the south is improving..."

"Italy, your brother isn't going to overshadow you."

Apparently, it wasn't what he was supposed to say. The Italian started to twirl a finger in his bangs, perhaps to keep his hands and arms over his face to hide the tears welling in his eyes. He was always crying, but if he had decided long before sitting at this table that he was going to get through this without sobbing.

"I know, I just..." Italy trailed off and looked at his friend. He shouldn't have looked. For some reason the straight-set brows, and pools of blue for eyes always scared and enticed him in equal bits. He wasn't scared enough to run, and not enticed enough to stare, but that face always made him open up, whether he wanted to or not.

"I fear Fratello, or I…or both will cease to exist if we unify into one Italy." It came out of his mouth so quickly that Germany almost missed it. Yet again, Italy was reacting to something the wrong way. When an enemy confronted you, you should not run away. When you are told to surrender, you usually shouldn't willingly do it without so much as the batt of an eyelash. When you fear another nation's power, you shouldn't sabotage them…at least not like this.

"Italy, it's okay," Germany assured, "just because you and your brother…"

"…"

"…"

"…my brother…?" an eyebrow raised as the shorter of the two waited on the other to finish his statement. It was a long wait.

Germany had stopped speaking entirely, and stared at the corner of the table without motion. His Italian friend leaned forward, snapped in his face, and began to worry.

"Germany?"

 _You and your brother, Venesiano and Romano, North and South, West and East, Germany and Prussia._

 _One was more prosperous than the other, and that is what split them up. One side was abused by Russians or nature itself. The other side was working with the rest of the Allies, or a vast history of talented musicians and artists. One side, North or West, was superior. As nations they worked to improve, and please their people, but how much good could they do for themselves, how many economic-crash-fevers could they get over, and how many strains in the back from poverty could they stretch out before bettering their health meant killing themselves? The South or East sides had to maintain inferiority to remain in existence._

 _As nations, the sets of brothers saw the same things. As nations, they both recognized the benefit to unifying. Their people would be happier, and their boss would rest a little easier, and the nation would be able to raise its GDP and standard of living. As nations, they strived to unify and return to their hypothetical or former, Italian or German glory._

 _But, as people, they were siblings of the same ruby red blood. They loved each other, and wanted to be together; even if the brute or stubborn hot-head of the duo dared not admit this aloud. If the Italians unified, one of the two of them would stop existing._

 _If there was only 'Germany' and not 'The German Democratic Republic' and 'The Federal Republic of Germany', there would only be one. If there was only one Germany, there would only be one person to **be** Germany._ If Germany reunited, he would once again feel Adelina's love.

But he would never again feel his brother's.

Or touch him.

Or yell at him.

Or be yelled at by him.

He wouldn't ever again see his brother.

Not only did Germany not know how to react to this information, but he couldn't react. His mind simply ran over it again and again ensuring there were no skimmed over plot holes. Yet again, there was no way to save himself and save his family. It was always one or the other, and he, as the youngest with the most potential, seemed to keep winning. He seemed to keep growing lonelier and lonelier in his victories.

A tap on the shoulder shook the man from his rapidly running train of thought.

"Germa-"

"We- you can't sabotage your brother. You have to think about his people and their quality of life. This just has to play out the way history and the future want it to."

"But, Germany-"

"You can't just leave your brother out to dry."

"I-"

"Don't you want your whole nation to prosper?"

"I do! But,"

"You shouldn't just let him fall!"

"Germany, you're speaking too fast!"

"You have to help your- his people!"

"I-"

"Think of all those people!"

"Helping his people won't help _him_!"

The blond opened his mouth, but in the split second it took his mind to process the last comment, his prepared retort died.

"Helping him will help him. But helping him won't help _him_."

"I…I think so," he made some sort of airy sound effect here, "Germany that was confusing. What should I do?"

The German's face went completely blank.

"Would you like pepper?" a man asked. He stood over Italy, who had just been handed a plate of steaming hot pasta, with a pepper grinder. Italy shook his head and received no pepper. He broke away from the man and looked back at his blonde friend to find the other man eating voraciously, and avoiding his gaze.

"Adelina or my brother," he wondered? As if he had any choice.

Italy picked up his fork, not wanting to keep talking, and not willing to let the pasta get cold.

* * *

Well if that didn't take me forever and a day to write. This is, you guessed it, a re-write. The first version had this whole thing with Austria and Liechtenstein that I just didn't like.

I never know if I describe emotions well enough before they overflow. Like when Germany sort of cried a little. Originally, I WASN'T GOING TO HAVE ANYONE CRY FOR ONCE. LIKE SERIOUSLY. But for whatever reason, as I was revising that section, I myself could not stop crying. I was like, why am I crying? Tears are making it hard to read here bruh. But I took my own emotion as a sign that Germany needed a little more. So, I just slipped it in. Little build up to how his throat was closing and eyes stinging and face distorting, just one second he was mad and in his head, and in the next he was mad because he cried. Hope that worked… *wipes face covered in tears*.

*wipes face again because I typed another section, and again started sobbing for no identifiable reason. Maybe it's because I know this chapter is garbage but am too rusty from not writing in forever to know how to fix it.* I feel like unless one of my characters has a mental breakdown, the chapter is just not that good. However, I feel like I'm kind of compromising the status and personalities of the nations. You'd think after hundreds to thousands of years of dealing with stress that they could handle not crumpling a fridge and getting mad about "milk", but I kind of need to stretch their emotions for the story's sake. So, I'm sorry every single character is a big weenie. But again, even with the breakdown, I didn't feel it was all that good, therefore it took me forever and a year to write and edit and is nearly 4,000 words longer than I usually write.

I also wanted this chapter to specifically NOT check in on Prussia, and while I did that, I don't know what else to write about while I waited. So, not much happened here. I'm sorry if it's a bit of a disappointment after last time, especially considering how long you all waited. Next chapter will return to our hero, and finally get over this Russia arch, so maybe you'll like it better?

 **Anyways, I want to thank you all for the splendor of positive feedback in reviews last chapter. They all made me extremely happy, and giggly, and stupid, and I love y'all for taking the time to post.**


	14. November 9th

It seems I like, and feel I'm best at writing scenes with strong, negative emotions. Despair, regret, worry, confusion, anger, frustration – all my forte. The interesting thing about writing a story is that no matter how much I want to make every single scene literary perfection, some of them won't be. Not everything I need to write is in my emotional setting of choice. Even if it is, sometimes the events occurring don't give me much to work with. Sometimes I just have a bad day. It's very interesting writing something long like this and learning more about myself and how I can develop as a writer.

To anyone who cares, an update on me: on May 24th I graduated from high school with honors and am now moving on to college. I'm not ENTIRELY sure what I want to do. I WANT to do illustration but I also want money. Animation seemed like an okay in-between (not much money but more than illustration) but I don't really like 3D animation. The 2D industry is dying, and it's hard to find an animation program at a school I can actually afford. Every other day I think I should ditch my dreams and just study Computer Science to make my life easy.

All I know is that I like drawing, storytelling, minimal student loan debt, and a pay check. So, it's rough because these things don't really add up to anything logical. I'm doing my first year at a school in the big city nearest me (okay, it's Atlanta. I'm just going to trust none of you care enough to stalk me) studying Graphic Design to stay somewhat artsy, but really just get my core classes out of the way. I'll practice art at school, and storytelling here. So, let's continue this journey of growth together.

This chapter, like all the others lately, took a minute and a half to write. I thought I could get away with no apologizing for this taking so long, and then I went to revise, and realized I needed to rewrite the entire thing. So here we are with the "I'm sorry, I was busy" shtick. How about this? **If I ever decide to abandon this story, I'll let y'all know. Otherwise, just assume I'm taking my good sweet time updating.**

I find I can get a chapter out if I lower my personal expectations of myself and let my writing be what it is. As previously stated, not everything can be perfect. I also haven't read a book in a month or two so I fear I'm kind of dragging in my brain-knowledge-of-writing-styles-and-technique-ness or something. I've been in a strange mental place that I don't really understand, other than that it's bad for me, so I'm trying to put more of myself into myself and hobbies and less into other people. **Regardless of all my drama, I hope y'all enjoy this read and your summer!**

* * *

 _ **These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal**_

* * *

The whole world as of late seemed to be abuzz with a new excitement as communism lost more and more of its holds on unwilling countries and their citizens. A little cluster of nations in Europe especially seemed to smile brighter and move quicker as more and more of them found reason to get back on their feet again.

Germany in particular was positively affected by this.

Prior to this moment, the man in question would pretend everything was fine and dandy, and he had done a fair job of fooling little Italy. It wasn't until Japan pointed it out that Italy himself began to notice, and spending time with his big friend didn't feel quite the same.

Germany was never one to smile much before, but in that time he hadn't smiled at all. He also always liked to keep things tidy and clean, but in his sadness, he cleaned any and everything just to keep himself distracted.

Japan made a note to Italy of how purposeless it was to clean the inside of a bleach bottle, and that Germany likely knew this, but he was doing it anyways. Japan also made Italy see how lifeless his friend was when he walked, and the bit more muscle he'd gained in his efforts to keep himself from being left alone with his thoughts.

Italy of the present day almost wished Japan was around to check for him, but he was fairly certain Germany was giddier than he had been in the last decade. He had followed his friend to run errands.

First, he drove back and forth with Germany as he moved his extra cars to a garage across town. He now had only one remaining at his house and polished it with pride. There was a certain gusto in his rapid movements with the rag about the bright, red paint.

Then, Italy sat by and watched as Germany's exercise equipment was moved from the basement to the emptied half of his friend's garage. After placing down the last set of dumbbells, he smiled at himself for a job well done, and it was a smile that did not go unnoticed by a certain Italian.

Now, they were at the post office. Germany was shuffling through a pile of letters and stopped on two envelopes he seemed to be searching for.

"Here," he said without a hint of dreariness, "this one's yours and it'd be great if you could pass the other along to your brother."

Italy took the notes in his hands and watched Germany as he counted stamps. His skin was brighter, under his eyes was lighter, and he moved his head and hips ever so lightly to imply a stationary dance. He had to be happier now; Italy was certain of it. The letter in his hands told him why.

It was more of an invitation than a letter, printed on a little square of blue paper. The invitation detailed a gathering at Germany's house, supposed to take place two weeks from then on November the 11th, at 2p.m.

It was a welcoming party for Prussia.

Upon figuring this out, Italy was filled with his own blast of excitement, and the man gave up on reading the mood and sprung from his seat. He ran to Germany and clung to his arm, just like he used to, and this time Germany didn't seem to wilt into him.

"Gilbert's coming back?!" Italy asked in an enthusiastic German. He had started speaking his friend's native tongue instead of Language of the Nations whenever possible in an effort to cheer him up, and part of him feared this was still necessary.

"Yes," Germany announced handing his stack of letters to a robust woman, "it's been in the workings for a while, but I found out officially two nights ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Italy squeezed on the tight muscle on his friend's arm, and it was a gesture that made Germany turn to him with a bit of a smirk and respond:

"I just did."

"No but…" It was a joke. A joke of sorts. The sudden realization killed Italy's train of thought for a moment and stretched a pleasant smile over his sunbaked cheeks. Germany hadn't been the least bit playful in what felt like forever, but the sudden presence of a _joke_ warmed his Italian companion from the inside out. He didn't need Japan to tell him his friend was happy again. "…but sooner."

"I don't know," Germany replied. He smiled at nothing. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Make sure of what?"

"That it was real."

Italy's grip on Germany slacked, but only for a horrified second. As Germany said that he seemed to melt all over again in the slight ways Japan had listed: his shoulders drooped, his eyes dulled, his face fell. Well, this wasn't about to happen again so quickly when Italy had just gotten him back.

"Who told you about this?" Italy questioned.

"My boss, and Alfred."

"Well then it must be real!" the shorter of the two cried with a hop, "and if it isn't, then I'll start a riot for you."

Germany looked at Italy, blankly. Even with Japan's tips he could be hard to read, that is, until his whole body seemed to smile with him.

"Thank you," the man remarked, and then he took his receipt from Ms. Robust.

* * *

"So, if he's coming back on the 9th, why do we have to wait till the 11th to go visit?"

"Germany said he wanted to give Prussia time to rest. If you'd just read the back of the invite…"

"To Hell with his rest," Switzerland remarked, followed by instant regret for cursing at his sister, "who all is going?"

"Well… I know Italy will go, and he will probably bring his brother with him, and-"

"Why would Rom- oh, sorry for interrupting, just, why would Romano want to come?"

"Prussia told me, before he left, that he and Romano had found some common ground and sort of became friends."

"As if either one of them could honestly convince me they had friends, better yet in each other," Switzerland stated a little too loudly for it have been to himself as he'd originally intended.

"…Aside from that," Liechtenstein continued, "Poland might come, I heard America was invited, France and Spain are likely to show up, Denmark is coming, Hungary wants to go, and Austria is tagging along."

"Nice to see Hungary's bringing her pet."

"What is wrong with you?" the girl questioned. Switzerland turned to her to find a puff of anger in her expression. "You are being exceptionally rude right now."

"It's not like anyone can hear me."

"Well I can and I don't appreciate it!" She was stern in her tone. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not."

It was her brother's famous lie – I'm not. I'm not sad, I'm not cold, I'm not hungry, I'm not tired, and I'm not upset. He never liked to seem anything less than perfect in her eyes, but Liechtenstein rarely stood for it. She'd rather dive for her brother's real intentions, than splash around on the shore of his seemingly consistent animosity.

"Are you going?" Switzerland asked.

"Of course." Why would he think she wouldn't go? Unless… "You're going."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are!"

"You can't make me go," Switzerland snapped, before looking back at his sister. Sometimes he wondered why they had to look so similar. Why couldn't he be an oddball of the family, like Prussia, and evade resembling the rest of them? It was hard to see his own eyes look at him with such sadness.

"Swivy…" she began, moving to sit next to him. He hated being called Swivy, but Liechtenstein was essentially given free will to do whatever she wanted around him. Any other nation who dared utter than name received a sharp bullet to the ass, and Austria had to be outright killed once or twice before he got the idea. That name was not okay.

By anyone, but her.

She took his hand and half held it, half rubbed his palm. He'd never told her he found it comforting, so he couldn't figure out why she always did it.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Yes."

"Why don't you want to go then?"

He didn't want to go because he didn't ever speak to Prussia. The whole time he was gone he only looked at paper and thought about it; he never even attempted to write a single letter. He hadn't seen him in private for longer than anyone else. He never made any effort to be around, so why should he now? Well, that and:

"I just don't."

"I'm gonna need a little more than that, Swivy."

More? Like what more? Like that he didn't really understand where everyone thought they got off suddenly going out to see Prussia? It had been ages since anyone had even mentioned his name, so it felt disrespectful to suddenly act like they had all been buddy-buddy till the man left. That and:

"It's a lot of effort."

"How so?" Lillie asked with growing patience and the sweetest smile. She was always so nurturing; maybe she got those mother-like characteristics from Hungary.

Swivy didn't really know what to do around Prussia. He had no idea how to walk into Germany's house, and see Prussia there, and act like he belonged in that situation. He didn't know how to feel welcomed when:

"I never knew Prussia that well."

"So you don't know what to say to him?" she asked. He'd never said that. Why could she always hear the things he never said? "That doesn't mean he wouldn't want you there."

Yes, it probably did.

"Really," she reassured after somehow hearing his thoughts, "it doesn't. I'm sure Prussia would be happy to see as many familiar faces as he could. It's been a long time since he's seen any one of us. If you're worried about disrespecting him," she began, as another thing he never said, "I'm sure he'd feel even worse if you just didn't show up at all."

Was Switzerland overly simple? He wondered if his face just gave away all his thoughts, or if someone went writing these things on his forehead. If his sister could always manage to understand him anyways, he may as well just say it.

"I am excited… t-to go I guess."

"Really?" her face lit up, "why?"

"Why? I don't know. I just am."

That and it'd been so long since anyone had had a good laugh, a good drink, or a good time. Sure they tried, but the dynamic wasn't the same without him. You had Germany, Austria, and Switzerland; a bore, a snob, and a brute. Even if you threw in Hungry who recently returned, all she added to the dynamic was femininity. They needed a wild ball of silver and red to liven up their night.

He could get annoying very easily, but he was also fun, and kindhearted, and they grew up together, and Switzerland at this point kind of…

"You miss him?" Liechtenstein asked as if she didn't already know the answer. "Well I do too. A lot."

* * *

 **November 9th, 1989 -** **12:00a.m.**

From above, it could be described as a flood. Waters of pigmented yellows and spots of brown poured forward in a frenzy. A sea of people crashing into the dam of their despair like the whites of waves whipping over rocks to a peaceful shoreline. There was some fear to it, and hints of desperation mingled within, but mostly it was a joyous occasion.

Some ran without regard to find any means of escape. Others walked under the arched overpass that was once feared and forbidden. Several had no intentions of following convention and sought to weaken the boundary, demanding their pickaxes and hammers drive a way through; they created their own checkpoints.

On a later date, Germany felt someone would ask him how it felt to cross. How would he answer? Not much changed for anyone present.

Germany had started on the ground, but in a place that felt far below it. The air was humified with sweat, there were hands and bodies pushing on him, and the sights of this side were too familiar. The sky on this side was its usual deep blue, the stars dots of bland white, and the trees: identical cones of green.

Then, for a moment, he was up. About a meter and a half off the ground his foot took a pit stop in the hole in the wall they had created. For just a moment, it was quiet as the sides of the wall drowned out the screams. For a moment his hair stood on end and his pupils dilated and his heart raced and bubbles filled his stomach. And then his foot landed.

And when it landed his boot sunk into the freshly rained-on grass, frenzied hands touched him, and he breathed in the humidity.

But the wind blew as he crossed and a crisp cold caressed his reddened cheeks. The sounds of his people were drowned out by the deafening banging of his heart in his ears. He looked out and saw an unfamiliar sky that was a swirling of blues and blacks with simmering diamonds littered throughout. The trees were endlessly tall towers of lush green and yellow, and the people a collage of smiles, tears, and wonder.

There was an indistinct murmur of the screaming bodies around him. His legs lost weight as invisible forces pushed him slowly into the crowd. He let himself drift, lost in a subtle euphoria, to the back of this tidal wave.

He was in east Berlin again. And he had someone waiting on him.

* * *

 **November 8th, 1989 - 11:57p.m.**

Prussia held hands with the woman next to him. She squeezed especially hard, hard enough to hurt him, but he squeezed back just as much.

They stood like that, with interlocked fingers pressing deep enough to make each of their entire arms tremble, to keep each other from sobbing, or screaming, or sprinting themselves a head start. All the excitement and giddy joy in both their bodies funneled downwards and out and was laced under their nails and resting in the small pocket of air between their palms.

The time ticked a minute more to **11:58p.m.**

Prussia had yet to think to even turn and look upon this woman's face. Who she was did not matter at all, just simply that she was there. Running from wrist to wrist was an unspoken agreement to share this moment with one another, and a hidden, binding kindship. So, when her fingers that were dampened with sweat brushed against his that were chilled by the November air, he couldn't deny her grasp.

 **11:59p.m.**

Time was getting closer. The woman shifted from holding his hand to clinging to his arm for some sort of control. She jumped, and trembled, and smiled wider than she had in years. She shook Prussia's form until he pulled her into him. He'd still yet to see her face, but his new heart-sister had a head of red curls and clung to his shirt, both shivering from cold and shaking with unbridled elation.

His eyes watered, but he couldn't tell if it was from the temperature or the time. **11:59:15p.m.** In forty-five seconds it would all end – and by the time he'd finished thinking that it was forty-two seconds. Heart-Sister began to cry and held her newest friend tighter. On the other side of that wall was her half-brother, and she needed to see him.

There were brothers on the other side, and sisters with cousins and nephews and fathers and friends. Some had never met, some would not recognize each other at first with all the new wrinkles and grey hair, and some had flowers to deposit at a long-lost headstone. Not everyone had someone _else_ on the other side though; some people lost parts of themselves. Once they crossed they'd find their own completion, revelation, happiness, and freedom.

The little ones with their tired bodies, worn souls, and red and sliver heads needed to cross. Why didn't the time change faster? They held each other to keep the other somewhat sane; there were just moments now.

Someone screamed out "Zehn". It was a countdown.

"Neun

Acht

Sieben

Sechs

Fünf

Vier!

Drei!

Zwei!"

There was no "Eins!". By then Prussia had lost his heart-sister, and she had lost him, and everyone counting had lost their minds, and the night was filled with shrieks! They ran with no regard for anything but the wall. There was a speedy man, middle-aged, who Prussia saw pass through the borders first with no restraint. The very sight of such a phenomenon sent chills up his spine; or maybe that was the wind.

A bouncy head of red curls ran ahead of him, and he hoped it was his heart-sister sprinting forwards. His stomach twisted as he neared the boundary. But he couldn't figure out why he was scared? He knew exactly what was over there; blond.

The blond, bulky, little brother he'd left behind would be standing right on the other side in some halo of light. He'd pull him into a hug that warmed him from the inside out, just like the Kaba cocoa Germany loved so much. They'd laugh, and smile, and maybe cry, but then certainly make fun of each other for crying, and normality would be resumed.

He wasn't ready to cross. His stomach was still flipping and his body shook without the weather's influence. He needed to think, and to breathe, but those behind him were ready.

They pushed.

The other side looked just like his; but different. It was shrouded in the light of the street lamps, the moon, and the stars alike. But also in luminescent smiles and glowing embraces. A woman held a woman looking the same as her – reunited twins. A man raised a little boy over his head and planted a kiss on a sobbing woman's temple – a family that had been split up for two years.

"SON!" a voice cried, and for half a second Prussia fully expected his father to turn the corner.

A strapping young man knelt to the ground and wept into the grass. What had he found when he crossed? Perhaps it was no one and that had saddened him. Perhaps it was himself and that had moved him.

Everything happened in effervescent speed and a lucid slow-motion. Life had become surreal. Not surreal, but unreal. Prussia felt at any moment his body would drift into the clouds, or that his eyes would open, look through a fog of sleepiness, and behold again the stained ceiling of a Russian basement. Was he really standing in West Berlin? Was his brother really waiting for him?

His brother.

Germany.

Germany was waiting.

All at once the world found color again, his brain resumed function, and his being made sense. He had to find-

"Excuse me?" came a small, high pitched voice to Prussia's left. He looked, and his heart stopped. It was a little boy standing no taller than his waist and pulling on his shirt. "Can you help me?"

The child's eyes were a bright, sky blue. His hair was short, blond, and messy with slightly damp bangs. He wore the same suspenders, shorts, and white shirt Prussia had loved to see Germany in. His smile was a little brighter, and his nose was a bit smaller, but it was just like him.

Prussia knelt down and asked, "with what, child?" It couldn't be, could it? But nations had been through so much. China lived forever and a day, Poland was essentially resurrected, and everyone still wondered if Mr. Texas had in fact turned himself into a pair of glasses after his short time as a country. It was possible. This child bore such a resemblance to him.

"I have to find my cousin's house," the boy said, raising a sheet of paper with an address scrawled on it.

"Well," Prussia said, recognizing the street this house was on, "where are your parents to take you?"

"Daddy was killed," the boy said, just as Germany would have when asked about Germania, "and I never had a mom."

He was an orphan, just like Prussia would have been given that he existed in society as a human. An adorable little orphan boy who chose to ask no one other than Prussia on this monumental day for help. Prussia stood and took the paper from the child. It didn't make any sense, but it was possible. It was possible, but this kid couldn't be Germany.

"What's your name, son?"

He _couldn't_ be.

"Hyde."

"And how hold are you?" Prussia asked, both relieved and disappointed. He handed the paper back.

"Six." Six and the orphanage had just let him roam free with a sheet of paper. Unbelievable.

"Well," Prussia stated, not able to pull his gaze from those icy, blue eyes, "your cousin's house is a while away from here, so let's start walking."

"Okay!" the child excitedly took his hand and they began on, "his name is J. He is adopting me. I'm going to live with him now." It felt just like old times.

"Is that so?" Prussia asked with a grin. It had been so long since his Germany, or Italy, Canada, or any of the younger nations were small. He'd completely forgotten how much kids loved to talk.

"Yea! The boys from the house said they'd come visit me and J. Do you know what dogs are like? J has a dog and he said it's big. I bet it's not bigger than me though."

Prussia laughed.

 **12:46a.m.**

Hyde was a real trooper. In all the walking they'd done, and all the one steps Prussia'd taken that meant two of the boy's own steps, he hadn't complained. At least, not aloud. His face however twisted in pain and his head drooped with sleepiness.

"Hyde, why don't you ride on my back the rest of the way."

"No," the boy barely said through his haze of exhaustion, but by then Prussia had already kelt in front of him. He had walked right into him and Prussia scooped him up.

"Take a nap, Hyde. I want you to be ready to see your new family."

"I'm not sleepy."

 **12:49a.m.**

Hyde was snoring quietly.

Prussia walked with him past a bar that had a presence throughout the country. He recalled going to one of them with Germany and Hungary. They drank _a lot_ , and one of the three of them, who will remain nameless, ended up topless with her breasts covered only by napkins she'd stuck there with syrup.

Prussia smiled faintly. It had been thirty years since he'd seen his brother, and now the images of them swigging beers were foggy. He knew Germany was taller, but how much taller? Short enough that Prussia could just pretend he was the taller one, or tall enough that Prussia had to claim it was his awesome parenting skills that got Germany that big in the first place?

His knew his brother's hair was smoothed back but did the one fly away he was constantly worried about reside on the left or right side? Front or back? There were just some things he couldn't remember even after hundreds of years by his side. But tonight, or rather, this morning, so soon as he was done with Hyde, all of that would end.

He could see a blurry image of his brother's face, a muffled sound of his laughter, and something close to the shade of red his face would turn when a dirty joke made him blush. Hidden behind a sheer sheet were the girls who flirted with him, and the clothes he would wear, and that one time he got scouted for male modeling and Switzerland could not stop laughing at the poor man.

He was excited to have it cleared up, and to have his memories made whole again. His heart warmed at the thought of making more of them, and his faint smile brought light to the entire street corner.

He couldn't wait to go home.

 **1:37a.m.**

"Hyde," Prussia cooed, shaking his back and patting the little face nearest his, "come on buddy, wake up, we're almost there."

Hyde mumbled something or other, but accepted being set on the ground, and started to walk with his hand in Prussia's and his eyes closed.

 **1:43a.m.**

"What if…what if his dog is sleeping? Will he be mad if I wake him up?"

"Dogs like to make new friends. I think he'll be happy to meet you." Prussia recalled Germany's first time wanting a dog. He was only seventy when he laid eyes on a beagle and fell in instant love. He'd spent the whole walk home talking about how floppy his ears were, and how little his legs were, and how nice he looked.

Every dog they'd spotted since then was a guilty pleasure of Germany's; something that could steal his attention like a cat with yarn, and while he never said anything, you could see the love and desperation on his face as he struggled not to cuddle the creature. He hoped Hyde would grow to like dogs too.

"Are we there? Is one of these houses his?"

"Almost, Hyde." He hoped Germany would wait on him a little longer. They were nearly done.

 **1:47a.m.**

Hyde jumped to reach and ring the doorbell. Immediately, there was a deep, rough bark.

"Sounds like a big dog indeed," Prussia commented with a smile towards the boy. The door swung open and a young man, maybe in his late twenties, stood in the doorway.

"Uhm," he looked Prussia up and down in shock, "Hyde?!"

"Oh no, Hyde is-" Prussia looked down to find nothing where the little boy was supposed to be. He felt a hand press into the space on the back of his knee. Hyde was hiding behind him.

"Come on buddy, we're here," Prussia said, lifting the boy by his armpits and placing him on the doormat.

The child looked up at his older cousin.

 **1:52a.m.**

Prussia was asked if he was sure he didn't want anything to eat. He was thanked repeatedly and Hyde hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He was thanked once more before waving and running off. He hadn't run a long distance in a while, but if he held out properly he could run the whole way back and not have to rest.

Which meant he would be at Germany's side quicker.

 **2:44a.m.**

Prussia was running out of breath. His sprint and slowed to a run, and his run to a jog, and he desired his jog to become a walk, or a nice sit, but it was getting late. He hadn't seen the time but he knew it had been very long a time for him to ask Germany to just stand in the frigid air and wait.

By now there was probably a chance he wasn't waiting anymore. He could have just grown frustrated with his stupid brother like he always did and gave up on him, so what difference would it make if Prussia rested?

"And who told you you could stop?" he heard drill captain Germany yelling in Italy's ear, "Get up! Quit crying! Go!"

He imagined then that Japan was running alongside him, despite having been lapped once or twice as they often ended up, and fighting on. He always hid his exhaustion and instead was eager to receive and follow new instructions from his coach.

Even if Germany wasn't waiting for him by the wall anymore, Japan needed someone to run with, Italy had to have his spirits kept up, and he was sure he could hear a whistle blowing faintly. He held on to his memories and jogged a little faster.

" **3:26a.m**.," read the clock. Prussia stared at it for a solid ten seconds before sprinting ahead full speed. Had it really been _that_ long?

 **3:35a.m.**

There were still a few people out by the wall. A few, but one of them had to be Germany. He would have waited, wouldn't he? It was an awfully long wait… Prussia figured he should've found Germany first, and then taken Hyde to his cousin's house once they were together.

A pit formed in his stomach, but he decided to ignore it. _Germany would still be here. There were still people walking around on this side, and probably some on the other side, and…_ he laughed _, there's even someone on top of the wall._

The initial suspicion was ignored, but as tired legs carried Prussia closer and closer, he could've sworn the man pacing up there was rather large. And he looked blond from this distance. Did he have on a necklace that just shimmered in the light? Could it have been cross shaped?

 **3:37a.m.**

"BRUDER!" Prussia cried, and when the call was made, the blond man jumped off the wall. That was him. It was him! He was really willing to wait nearly four hours for his idiot brother to catch up. He even scaled the wall to make himself easy to find.

All Prussia's thoughts left him and he could only focus on the burning of his heart. It was pounding so fast his entire chest throbbed, but they were almost at the finish line. Germany was right there. Just a little bit further. Three or four more strides!

Germany turned away from the wall. In those icy, blue eyes Prussia saw the city of Hamburg turn towards him. And the Rhine River that flowed through Germany's cheeks seemed surprised to see his brother. A smaller town called Essen barely had time to smile at the rushing ball of red and silver before Dresden and Leipzig and the Elbe River, and the Baltic Coast, and everything that Prussia as East Germany was, tackled his western brother to the ground.

As the map of a forsaken nation stitched itself back together, the East and West halves trembled in the cold of the November night. There was nothing on Earth strong enough to pull them apart in that moment; the other would never drift away again, they'd never leave their hearts half empty again, they'd never let parts of themselves be lost again.

The brothers could've both broken apart as ever-concealed pain, distain, mourning, and remorse was replaced with an excitement, and expanding joy that begged to break through their skin. Their words became an unintelligible garble of sounds, and instantly, they were sobbing, while laughing, and crying, but cheering, with screams and whispers mixed in.

They were stripped of the expectations and formalities of being men, and melted down into boys rolling in the grass in unfettered solace and jubilation. They held one another long enough and tight enough to re-live every memory they'd left behind twice over.

The people of East and West Germany alike stopped poking at the fire, or sipping their cocoa. The entire population of the nation felt a certain, indescribable tug in their hearts and warmth in their bodies as the two halves that represented their lands, were finally unified.

* * *

Praying by Ke$ha and Versace on the Floor are the actual jams right now. But anyhowdy, there goes your chapter! In MS Word it's 20 pages long so, Whooo! Screams! I think the end could use more emotion, but as we've discussed, I'm not good at writing happiness. I'm gonna try to read up and do better next chapter though. (Guys, our protagonist is actually about to enjoy himself! Wow! Who woulda thought I'd write such a thing?!)

In a previous **review by a guest** it was elaborated on the loads of reasons Romano is just not at risk of fading away. To you I say, thank you for your information on Italy, but I'm going to continue to use it as a trope for the story. I will tone it down a little though, I because I didn't mean Roma was going to be kissing the world goodbye tomorrow, it's just kind of starting up for him (and could totally stop if the two halves of the country differentiate themselves even more).

I just think Prussia needs someone who he can talk to (and it's cool that it's Roma because neither one of them would be completely open, which is fun to write if I as the writer can subtly [usually it's not subtle tho bc I'm a novice] make the reader understand they're hiding some of their feelings).

While I'm at it, I'll address 2 more of my guest reviews.

 **To Aqua** – thank you for coming back repeatedly even tho you don't have an account (or I just can't PM you…) that's super cool fam!

 **To Guest who guessed "Tears of an Angel"** – You are such a smartie. Lol that was so long ago, you may not even be reading any more, and I've certainly deviated from that format, but I just think it's cool that you guessed it so easily. :D

Furthermore, I gotta thank my main, **Self-Inflicted Insanity** , for helping me out yet again. Literally would not have finished this chapter without their advice.

Anyways, excuse me for these especially long before and after chapter messages, but it's been so long since I've talked to you guys that I just felt like I needed to explain a lot. And I like to share my discoveries to the probably 3 or you who read these parts (I don't blame you. If they're super long or pointless I skip em in other stories).

But to y'all who are reading, in the next chapter Prussia comes home and has a lil party. It's gonna be happy! There's like a…20% chance no one will cry? I mean I got through this chapter with minimal tears, so, it's looking up for them eyeballs!

 **Thank you for reading, and even if you're reading this 6 years after I wrote it, before you click "next chapter", do Mama** (me. I'm Mama. For some reason.) **a favor, and _REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!_** I'd be nowhere without you guys' feedback.


	15. DELETED SCENES

**Okay you guys, I swear, I am working on the next chapter. I'm like actually almost done (ish...not really. shhhh.) but here is some writing to tide you guys over.**

 **CUT SCENES**

A lot of times when writing a chapter I just get rid of scenes that I write and then don't like. From now on, I'll just compile them here. Here I'll put the context of the scene, why it was cut, and then the scene. Let me know what you think. Do you really love them? Should they have been included or do you see why they were cute? Is updating this as I write new chapters a fair way to stall updating for you guys (lol probably not)? Here we go…

* * *

 **CONTEXT: Originally part of chapter 13 where Prussia comes home from Russia to Berlin. This was before he returned home and Germany was preparing.**

 **WHY CUT IT?: I felt this scene didn't portray Germany's emotions well enough. It just seemed to ramble on for literal pages about furniture, as if anyone cares, and then gets itself quickly cut off because I was wanting to include some past characters in this chapter so badly.**

 **CUT SCENE 1:** November 8th 1989 – 4:07p.m.

Once upon a time, Beilschmidt Manor had a large lawn stretching back into the vivid, freshly cut, green grass. There were bushes here, flowers there, and rocks between them all adding to the beauty of the scenery. It was a grace that seeped into the house's interior too. The Manor used to be kept completely spotless, showing no signs of having actually been lived in save several framed photos with the common factor of a grey haired, yet young man, and another blond and bulky looking one.

There was crown molding on every wall, a fresh coat of polish on every marbled floor, and not a strand of hair on any of the furniture. Furniture that all cost a fortune, and certainly looked like it did as well. The home's décor was arranged and perfected with dedication and love, and somehow in all the glamor, the place still found a way to seem homely.

However, now upon the times, the grass had turned to weeds that stretched up to the windows, and the furniture was gone. The floors were dull, the stairs were dusty, and the carpets were messy. Beilschmidt Manor was too glorious a place to actually be repurchased, thus now it stood slightly dilapidated and hiding in the shadow of its lost dignity.

However, some of its squandered grandeur now attempted to shine into an unnamed basement right near Berlin.

It wasn't succeeding.

135 meters of measly space wasn't a large enough containment field for such glory, at least according to the thoughts hiding in the corner of Germany's brain.

It sounded pitiful in theory; a man who's fallen so far he now had to live in his little brother's basement, but it was the only viable option. It was all Germany had to offer. The wood floors and carpet had been swept, mopped, polished, and vacuumed, and the window sills were vigorously dusted every day, but there were still specks on the windows. There was still that one spot where the paint had turned grey that Germany couldn't cover. There was still that one outlet that was slanted, and the light bulb that wasn't bright enough.

As he had told himself, "perfect" was a word he had to stop using. His original dreams of giving his sibling something "perfect" died years ago when his boss cuts his funding, and payments on Beilschmidt Manor had to end. If he couldn't get the space perfect, he hoped he could at least get it good, but he was struggling as it was to make it look _acceptable_.

The first issue was the bookshelves. The Manor contained in it two complete libraries. One of the two containing various books from various authors with various spine sizes and colors. These books were amongst other lost furniture in a storage shed. The other library contained what could have been hundreds to thousands of identical, Prussian blue books lined from shelf to shelf. Twelve bookshelves had to find their way into the basement.

They barely fit, and had to be lined up one by one on every single wall in that basement to make the cut. Prussia would have to read whatever was in these identical books in his bathroom, and bedroom, and TV space, and on his way up the stairs.

 _Speaking of stairs, when he comes down them, what if he tries to go left to the bathroom? He'll run right into his dresser! No. That thing has to be moved back to under the window. That meant the bed under the window should be moved back into the left room, and the couches back out here. But that brings back the problem of how to arrange the couches and the TV about the window so there's no glare. Maybe I shouldn't…_

 _No! It makes sense. The couches should be the first thing his guests see. But what if his guests used the back door? They'd be led right into the bedroom, and what if Prussia was doing something private in there?_

Germany began to wish his brother believed in feng shui, so at least then he would have a layout he could trust. The couch had been moved eight times, the bed tried three different locations, and he'd lost track of how many times he moved the wardobe.

 _I should take the sign down from the bathroom; it was silly._

 _Prussia wouldn't want up that poster anyways, he'd want this one._

 _Is that_ _ **dust**_ _on top of the fan? No. Stop everything._

Repeatedly, everything was stopped. It was too small, and too dark, and these blue books did not make good wallpapering. He was beginning to feel it would never look right, but maybe a quick clean would brighten the place up.

"If you grab that broom again, I will shoot you," an irritated voice claimed from the corner.

"Bruder."

"I'm very serious."

Switzerland and Liechtenstein sat together at the bottom step. Initially Switzerland was helping move furniture; first exotic cars from the garage to a rented space across town, then exercise equipment from the basement to the emptied garage, and then the furniture from the storage space that was rented when the Manor was emptied to the basement. Liechtenstein was providing snacks, and simply not willing to leave her brother's side.

However, after about three days of on and off furniture shuffling, the older of the duo grabbed a beer, the younger a water, and they decided to sit it out and wait. They both underestimated the man before them's determination to waste his own time and tire himself out, and now as the sun was setting after a day of manual labor, and one of the three of them was losing his patience.

"I just need to-"

"Germany, no."

"But if I just-"

A rifle clicked.

"Bruder," Liechtenstein desperately interjected, "let's get some food for all of us. Germany, you make any changes you need to, but once the food is here, you join us, okay?" She stood and made her way up the stairs, fully expecting her brother to follow. Once he heard the front door open, he ran to do so.

Germany figured they'd gone out for fast food which gave him twenty minutes at the least.

 _That's twenty minutes to get this place from crap to perfe- ...no, to good. To okay. To close enough._

For starters, he figured if he hurried, he had time to reconstruct the entire doorway.

* * *

 **CONTEXT: Another from Chapter 13 before Prussia comes home.**

 **WHY: I felt I could better describe Romano's feelings through another character. Written kind of in his perspective like this forces him to admit he's in-denial, which isn't something I think his character consciously does. Plus, if I wrote it from Liechtenstein's perspective, we could explore her and her brothers' feelings too.**

 **SCENE 2:** "So, what time do you think we should get there?" Veneziano asked in his usual, annoying voice that was shifted two octaves too high for his age. He rolled about the couch in his living room having found unstoppable excitement in a blue square of paper he kept his golden eyes glued to.

"Well," Romano replied with peak irritation present in his voice, "the invitation says 2p.m., so I'd say it's safe to say… 2p.m."

"Should we bring pasta?"

"No one would eat it but us."

"Okay…but should we bring it?"

"Why would we-" A loud bang cut off Romano's train of thought.

"Ah," said Spain, entering the room and rubbing his head, "lo siento mis amigos, what are we talking about?"

"Tuesday!" Veneziano chimed, raising the blue square over his head in joy.

"Tuesday… si… it's stressful. I still don't know what I should say."

Why did this have to happen on Tuesday? This meant that from today until Tuesday, his brother, and Spain, and France, and any and everyone else would rope him into the same stupid conversation. What to bring, what to say, when to leave, what to wear – just endless stupid questions he didn't have answers to!

Romano didn't know what _he_ was going to wear on Tuesday, but did he cry about it? No. He simply shuffled through his clothes each time he was at his closet and tried to pick an outfit. Even if he still didn't know if jeans were too casual or his uniform too reminiscent of old pain, come Tuesday he would have no choice but to put something on and go.

He assumed, furthermore, that he need not bring drinks or food. Knowing Germany he'd stock his fridge with every kind of beer and soda, and supply a meal native to every nation invited. Therefore, he shouldn't have to bring anything.

With that being said, he _could_ bring a plate. It would look nice and spruce up the crappy quality German food he'd otherwise receive… so should he?

Goddammit this was so stupid! If Prussia was coming home Sunday night, why for the love of all things was his welcoming party on Tuesday?! When he'd asked, the giant, yellow bastard fed him some crap about Prussia needing time to rest. It was completely idiotic! He didn't want to have to keep hearing the same stupid questions while waiting for Tuesday.

"OYE, ROMANO!"

"Si…ah, yes? Don't yell at me asshole!" If it could just hurry up and be Tuesday.

"Sorry," Spain resumed, "you just weren't listening. Italy asked you if you were excited?"

"Si, fratello, are you ready for the party?"

"Yes I'm ready." _Good God_ was he ready. He wanted more than anything right then for the stupid date and time on that stupid blue paper to hurry its ass up and arrive.

"I can't wait," Romano continued, "to get out of this house, and stop hearing these stupid questions, and get this dumb party over with and never have to worry about this again."

"I'm ready to see Prussia and Germany again," Italy cooed, bouncing happily on the sofa. Since no one was looking, Romano let the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly at the sentiment. He spun around so his back faced the others.

"Yea, whatever. Maybe if we see potato bastard 2 again, all you other bastards will get back to leaving me alone." Everyone would just look at that silver hair and flock to it, and maybe after a while Romano would join the flock too.

Maybe someday after Tuesday Prussia might want to get together again, and give Romano even more of a chance to escape these fools he was surrounded by. Maybe they would watch a show and eat chips and salsa again, and no one would die this time. Maybe things would just go back to being moderately happy if the bastard finally came back.

He had wished it an unquantifiable amount of times, from the moment he got those two invites in the mail, till now, but he figured he'd wish it again anyways. _Please let Tuesday come quickly._

* * *

 **CONTEXT: The reason Chapter 13 took so long was because I deleted like all of it to re-write. This was originally in on Germany's half of crossing the wall. Right after where it ended "and he had someone waiting on him" it just continued like this.**

 **WHY: Again, I feel I didn't portray the emotions carefully enough. Germany's anger seems kind of silly to me, and I think we can get the idea well enough that Germany waited all night without wavering from simply the fact that it took Prussia 5ever to get back. This was bad and unnecessary.**

 **SCENE 3:** 2:13a.m.

"Have you seen him?" he asked again, "about this tall," he held his hand at his cheekbone, "red eyes, grey hair, muscular, loud, very hard to miss."

"No, I'm sorry."

"Oh, okay, thank you." He turned to find someone else to ask.

2:24a.m.

There were still quite a few people out there. It was fine. One of these people would be named Gilbert. Germany took several calming breaths and stood on his toes to scan the crowd. Somewhere there had to be a bobbing head of silver. He looked left, right, behind him, left again, and saw mostly yellow.

Suddenly a glorious idea hit him, and he ran at the wall, then scuffed his feet up it till his hand touched the top. He pulled himself up with the remaining strength from his late dinner that night and sat atop it. This way he could see both sides from a better angle.

Blond, blond, blond, brunette, blond, black, blond, blond, GREY! He nearly jumped from his spot till he got a second look. This was the grey of long hair pulled into a ponytail on an old woman's head. He went back to scanning.

2:56a.m.

The field was beginning to clear out on both sides. He considered going home; what if Prussia was waiting for him there? But what if he was out here? He'd wait a little longer, but stay on the wall and keep scanning. He pretended his heart was full.

2:59a.m.

 _Where is Prussia? Does Russia think this is funny? Is this some kind of game?_ Germany's head had spiked several degrees and was now hot with rage. He could have counted the number of people still toddling around near the wall and none of them had short, grey hair. None of them had red eyes. Not a one of them was his brother.

They promised. America promised and France cosigned that promise and Russia begrudgingly nodded along. They swore Prussia would come back to him tonight. _Swore_ it. So where in this cold night's Hell was he?

3:08a.m.

He noticed he had lost feeling in his toes.

 _It's Sunday, November 9_ _th_ _, in Berlin, after midnight. I came to find Prussia, and he was supposed to be here to find me. Russia said he told him to wait here for me, not to try to go home. This is Berlin, isn't it? That man found his wife. That girl found that woman. Those people hugged that group. So why am I sitting alone on this cold ass wall?_

The man stood on the wall and started to walk down it. Maybe if he was a moving target, Prussia could spot him more easily.

3:37a.m.

A tall, blond, burlesque man jumped down from his spot atop a rather tall divide in the capital city of his country. He landed on the eastern side and looked around. No grey. No red.

Germany began his disheartened walk home.

* * *

 **CONTEXT: Originally part of chapter 15 where we have Prussia's party. Germany has left the house and now Prussia is alone.**

 **WHY CUT IT?: I came up with what I think is a better way to describe Prussia's distress. Don't want to say too much here because this could become a spoiler to the chapter I have yet to post.**

 **CUT SCENE 4:** The house wasn't empty. He just had to keep reminding himself that the house wasn't empty. Gilbird was there and he'd perched himself on an island chair. Furthermore, there were three dogs taking naps in the hall upstairs. And Germany would be back in sixteen minutes. So, the house wasn't empty.

Bruder would be back in sixteen minutes, but what if he didn't come back? Prussia picked up his phone to glance at it again; no new messages. Was this good? Did it mean Germany was alright? Or did it mean he didn't want to talk to Prussia? Did it mean he had been kidnapped and _couldn't_ talk to Prussia? Did it mean Russia hadn't really given up and that he was storming through the country demanding his hostage back?

Prussia set the phone down and taped his toes on the wood floor beneath him. They made a cute sound, like the sticky pitter patter he imagined frogs heard from themselves when they walked.

The house wasn't empty.

But he could feel his heartbeat. He could hear it in his ears and for some reason his heart pulsated in his arms. He felt. And he listened.

Bum. Bum bum. Bum. Bum bum…Bu-

Oh God why was that one slower? He was dying! The man clutched his chest and bent forward at the table, prepared for the striking pain of a breaking heart. It beat fast, as if it were the tempo of the tambourine swinging along.

That is until it slowed.

Bum. Bum bum. Bum.

The house wasn't empty.

With a breath, he pulled his hand away from his chest and stood. A man should never have to hear his own possibly wavering vitality.

He grabbed his phone from off the table and attempted to walk back to his room before glancing at it again, but after three steps he paused to study the device.

"Hows it going? Sent. 10:13 a.m. "

He looked at the time on his phone. 10:16. It was 10:16. It had been three minutes and his brother hadn't even _read_ the message. He couldn't come home in fourteen minutes if he was dead.

"Bruder, wya? Sent. 10:16 a.m."

He waited.

He really _tried_ to wait.

"Are u alright? Sent. 10:17 a.m."

The house wasn't empty. He wasn't going to be left alone again in another empty place. His hand met his chest again and his heart still beat in there.

"Did u get the clothes? Ur supposed to be back in 13 mins. u didn't get them yet did u? Sent. 10:18 a.m."

"I shoudlve gone with u Sent. 10:18 a.m."

All motion stopped as three bubbles appeared on screen. His eyes widened as he pulled the phone closer to his face.

"Im driving back Received. 10:18 a.m."

"DO NOT TEXT AND DRIVE ULL DIE! Read 10:19 a.m."

"Im immortal. -_- Received. 10:19 a.m."

…

"Are u still staring at the phone? Received. 10:21 a.m."

"Hallo?" Prussia said quietly into the receiver. Shortly after getting the "read" popup on his screen, Germany had decided to go ahead and call his brother.

"I'm on my way home," Germany responded, with a cool even tone to his voice.

"Okay."

Neither one of them said bye. Neither one of them hung up. Germany had found both a trigger and a solution.

"Bruder?" Prussia questioned.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"A car. They tend to be on the road."

"Oh. Okay."

The call lasted another twelve minutes.


	16. Welcome Home!

**My goal in life as an artist is to create a masterpiece** (shocking, I know). A real piece of art. Something that can touch the hearts, bodies, minds, and souls of its viewers simply by being. The latest masterpiece I've been exposed to is **Dear Evan Hansen**. It is a BEAUTIFUL Broadway play, and while I don't live in NY and had to watch it online, if it ever does a world tour or I ever get to travel – I WILL go see it.

If you've never seen it, and have some tissues nearby, get on bootlegbroadway right now and WATCH IT. This is unless you can actually go to a theater to see it. They need legitimate, monetary support. One song from the musical that was particularly masterful was You Will Be Found. I feel this way about that song because as I listened to it, it reached me in different ways. I cried a lot during the first half of this musical.

This song was (another) tear fest for me because it kind of sounds like Gospel. My connection to God and religion is wobbly at best, but if you even have just the slightest fragment of belief, hearing a chorus scream "you will be found" made me throw my hands in the air in a "Jesus take the wheel" fashion. There's something powerful about having someone or something to believe in (even if it's not God).

Furthermore, I cried because of the lyrics. Our protagonist, Evan, has been through a LOT at this point, and you are made to relate to him. Even if you don't have any kind of _clinical_ depression, anxiety, or other such issue, everyone has felt the motions at some point. Loneliness, heart break, feeling irrelevant, unloved, anything really; we have all had a time where we felt alone and worthless. The musical does a great job of pulling up those discarded feelings in its viewers and then blasting them with exactly what someone wants to hear in that moment. "You are not alone, you will be found". It gets you right in the feels.

Finally, I cried for the protagonist. I just wanted Evan to be happy damnit! I wished I could jump through my screen and give that man a hug. I knew he was an actor, I knew it was all fake, but I still felt so BAD for him. It made me wonder if there were truly lonely people in my life who I could've loved as much as I loved Evan, but had been neglecting. I wanted to call someone and tell them I loved them. I wanted to give the universe a collective hug.

So really, the single song in the musical hit me four different ways. Spiritually, personally, with my relationships with others, and in the way most things try to – by making me care about the characters involved. That was just ONE PERSON's interpretation of ONE SONG. Never mind the whole theater or the whole musical. THAT is what a masterpiece looks like to me. A bunch of people sobbing.

Now, is this story I'm writing a masterpiece? No. Not by any stretch of the word. I doubt it's hit anybody spiritually, good luck finding a personal connection to personified dirt, in writing this I as the author haven't thought of loved ones or friends so why would you given that you as the reader are even more disconnected from all this than I am, and the only reason you care about the characters is because of Hima-papa, not me. So that's 4pts Dear Evan Hansen, 0pts this Story whose title is a reference to a song that gives everyone the preconceived notion that they should be sad upon reading it rather than the story actually making you sad.

Has anything I've ever drawn or painted or worked on been a masterpiece? If so, no one cared to let me in on that secret. But if working on embarrassing fanfiction or getting frustrated with drawing hands gets me a step closer to creating something that can touch even one person the way Dear Evan Hansen perfectly touched its entire audience – then I'll be more than happy to do it.

 **Welcome to the next chapter. (The title is a reference.)**

* * *

 ** _Dear Gilbert Beilshmidt,_**

 ** _Today is going to be a good day, and here's why: you're home._**

* * *

Germany opened his mouth, fully ready to say it this time, but his jaw opening and a drawing of breath was as far as he got. No sound came. He sighed and glanced at the time, and it mocked him by being a half hour ahead of when he'd planned to wake his brother.

Prussia was supposed to get started on a schedule of sorts. Wake up, shower, get dressed, eat, do normal things like a normal person instead of counting the cracks in the floor or the veins in your arm out of sheer boredom.

But his chest rose and settled so carefully, and the ceiling fan gently whipped cool air on his face making him hug into the blankets. There was a slight blush on his nose from the bit of a fever he'd gotten, and Germany could only imagine the teeny smile on his face was the result of good dreams. Who was he to stop that?

Stop that and bring Prussia into what? His comfortable home? Beilschmidt Manor that, once upon a time had a large lawn stretching back into the vivid, freshly cut, green grass? A glorious, lavish, expensive, flamboyant show of wealth with just the right amount of homely touches?

No, Germany couldn't take him to that because now upon the times, the grass had turned to weeds that stretched up to the windows, and the furniture was gone. The floors were dull, the stairs were dusty, and the carpets were messy. Beilschmidt Manor now it stood slightly dilapidated and hiding in the shadow of its lost dignity.

It sounded pitiful in theory; a man who's fallen so far he now had to live in his little brother's basement, but it was the only viable option. It was all Germany had to offer. When his government cut his funding, he could no longer afford to pay two mortgages, so the more expensive one had to go. Everything from the manor made its way into a grey cube of storage, or a pitiful, unnamed basement in the heart of Berlin.

135 meters of measly space in that basement wasn't a large enough containment field for such glory as Prussia's possessions, at least according to the thoughts hiding in the corner of Germany's brain.

Rather than a house, all he had to offer was three rooms; bedroom, bathroom, and living space. It was too small, and too dark, and these blue books from his brother's endless collection did not make good wallpapering.

The wood floors and carpet had been swept, mopped, polished, and vacuumed, and the window sills were vigorously dusted every day awaiting Prussia arrival. But the lightbulb still wasn't bright enough, and the TV still had a glare, and the ceiling fan still wobbled as it spun. If he couldn't get the space perfect, Germany hoped he could at least have made it good, but the man was struggling as it was to believe it looked _acceptable_.

At around five in the morning when they finally made it home from The Wall, Prussia hadn't bothered with changing, or asking questions, or even turning a light on. He threw himself onto his bed in exhaustion and was asleep in minutes with his brother sitting by his bedside. He'd slept like a newborn baby since then.

But the schedule, the schedule was important. Even if now sunlight streamed in through the opened blinds and revealed to Prussia the horror he'd now have to call home, he had to wake up and see it eventually. Sleeping for 29 hours was honestly cause for concern, so Germany _had_ to wake him now.

He opened his mouth.

"Prussia." He'd said it as if he feared his own voice, and such a sound didn't make the man in question even stir, better yet wake. Germany willed his vocal chords to make sound again, but he'd lost his will, and his body would no longer obey.

Very carefully, not wanting to wake his sibling with the sound, the younger of the two unfolded a crumpled sheet of paper and his eyes scanned it.

 _Loud noises… When she won't eat I have to… Usually wakes around two in the morning… Freezes up at the sound of…_

It was all written in the loops and scrawls of Austria's elegant hand writing. Upon receiving his invitation to Prussia's welcoming party, Austria express mailed Germany his own letter; a list of Hungary's triggers and solutions he'd found. From what Germany had collected, Hungary wasn't a complete mess, but there were some things that caused her slight discomfort, which build to paranoia, which became fear. Living in fear is no way for Germany's brother to live.

 _I know we're trained to deal with this kind of thing, and see it all the time,_ the man had said _, but it can be a little hard to think militarily when the one involved is someone you care for. I still don't know all of what happened, she won't tell me much and a lot of my knowledge is simply speculation, but the results are messy._

 _I've heard Poland has simply fallen into a depressed state –_ Poland, of all nations _– and Hungary is clearly dealing with a Post-Traumatic Stress. Neither one of them have completely fallen apart as the humans would, so maybe Prussia will be just fine, but in case he's not, here's some of what I've discovered works for Hungary and me when she's having a moment._

He had already read it, and read it again, and re written it in a small notebook for himself, and then read it from the notebook, and had a light panic because of it, and memorized the first half of it, but just in case, he read it again.

 _She's good at following the new schedule now that she's on it, but if I have to wake her, I just try to do so gently. On days I send her to sleep at her own house, she seems to do fine if she's woken by sunlight or birds chirping instead of a wild alarm clock._

So then, gently. He just had to wake his brother gently.

"Prussia." It was still too soft.

"Prussia!" Oh God, not gentle at all. He rested a hand on his brother's slender shoulder, and with some internal battle, he made himself shake it – lightly.

"Prussia, it's well past time to get up." The albino man let out a murmur.

"Prussia, will you get up?" It sounded like more of a command with his deep voice, but he was trying his best.

Prussia arched his back and pulled his arm over his head stretching every knotted up muscle from those in his fingertips to his toes. The man glanced to the left, letting the fog and blurriness clear from his vision, and saw the only person he wanted to see. A smile stretched across his pale cheeks from the splotch of discoloration on the left, to the still-healing scar on the right. He grabbed him.

Germany didn't melt away, he wasn't out of reach, and when hugged, he didn't force his brother away like he did in the dreams. He was big, and warm, and actually there, and that's all Prussia needed.

"Ah, uh, good morning," Germany said from inside his brother's chest, a little startled and confused.

"Ni hao. C'est mon bruder," Prussia replied, and you could hear the smile in his words.

"Um…that's a lot of languages you've got going on there…right, I think you should get ready for the day," Germany gently pulled away from the embrace with something that was almost a grin on his face, "people will be here to greet you in a few hours."

"I thought the party was the 11th."

"It is the 11th. You slept all day yesterday and I didn't want to disturb you…so…" Prussia was looking around the room with one eyebrow raised and the gesture ended Germany's train of thought.

He hated it. He hated it, and he wasn't going to say he hated it, but he hated it.

Prussia's smile returned. "You moved all my recent bookshelves in here?"

"The others are in storage. I didn't want to have them everywhere so I only put them in the bedroom. I know they take up a lot of space lining the walls like this, but I didn't know how else to…to…Prussia?"

The man was grinning wildly, eyeing every shelf, letting himself be enveloped in the scent of paper and a sea of blue. Then he was giggling, then full on laughing. He covered his face and laughed into his hands.

How had his brother thought of this? It was so perfect; to have all of his dearest possessions surrounding him, and to put his latest bookshelf right near his bed so he could write and then go straight to sleep.

"Thank you," he said through giggles.

"You're thanking me?"

"Yes," and he smiled again towards his little brother, "thank you. I just- OH! MY WARDROBE!" Prussia jumped from bed and ran to the only place in the room that wasn't blue, "YOU MOVED MY WARDROBE!"

"Well, there isn't a closet in this room so I figured you'd need…"

Prussia threw open the Oakwood doors and chuckled into his clothes. They smelled like victory.

"You know this thing is antique," he said, pulling out his old, favorite pair of blue jeans, "it doesn't look like it because I've kept it well, but I always really loved it."

Germany threw himself into a wind of panic. It was 13th or 14th on the list! He couldn't recall which one exactly, but he knew that Hungary's weigh loss was one of her triggers. Prussia had lost a lot of muscle, and a good bit of fat too. His hands, wrists, and shoulders were basically skin and bone, and the rest of him barely held up. Germany hadn't had a chance to _gently_ explain how his old clothes probably wouldn't fit.

There Prussia stood, inside his jeans, pulling the waistline away from himself creating quite a lovely gap for some "after" picture in a weight loss commercial. He looked shocked, horrified, mortified, and as he released his pants and they fell off, right to his ankles, he howled.

In laughter.

"I knew I lost weight but would you look at this?" he bent over, turning red and losing his breath, "they don't fit at all!" It was apparently the funniest thing that'd ever happened.

He stepped out of his pants and ran to his brother, hugging him.

Again.

For whatever reason.

"I guess we'll have to buy me new clothes," he said, struggling to stifle his snickers, "that is until I get my workout back in order. I don't plan to look like this forever! I'm gonna go right back to being bigger than you."

Germany couldn't remember a time when his brother was bigger than him, but he didn't think mentioning that would do any good.

"Did you make breakfast? You did didn't you? I smell something great."

"Yes. Go eat some and then maybe shower. I'll go out and buy you smaller pants so you don't have to wear that same outfit you came here in. I made Schlackwurst and a strawberry jam."

"Awesome! I love strawberry!"

"I know. That's why I… are you okay?"

"Yea. I'm not still tired or anything." Prussia did a little shoulder dance in anticipation, "I have not had strawberry in forever! Bruder, come eat with me!"

"But I have to buy your clothes." By the time Germany said that he was already being led halfway up the stairs.

"We'll buy them together."

"But there's likely to be a big crowd at the store, and-"

"Y…You won't know what I like."

"I do know what you like. I'll just get one or two sizes smaller. It's fine, I don't want you to get caught up…in…" Germany's voice faded to silence as Prussia paused his assent up the stairs to look into him; past the icy blue irises and dilated pupils.

"Bruder, let's eat," he'd said, not letting his hold on his sibling's wrist slack, "then we'll go together." There was just the slightest change in his face. A minute wobble of the smile, and bit of a crinkle in the brows, and a sheen of worry barely in the eyes. It wasn't boldfaced, it wasn't anything a horrified human would show the German man, but it was there.

The younger brother nodded in agreement.

* * *

It was a small space, but in Prussia's opinion that made it better. Everything was tight. You couldn't look at the banner reading "Welcome Home" in bolded, German letters without noticing the circular table with a cloth draping to the ground and a cake raising three tiers tall.

If you saw the cake then surely you had seen that table of finger foods, and if you were looking at that your eyes hadn't missed the wine and beer coolers. The confetti fell closer and covered the entire floor – a fun cleaning project for later – and the lights shined brighter in such a small space. It was the perfect place for his party.

"Hello."

Prussia spun around and gasped at the wavy hair flowing to his friend's shoulders and the glisten of light in his violet eyes. His glasses looked bigger than Prussia could remember, and he looked taller too, but it was still the same man.

"Canada!" he greeted with far too much enthusiasm and a tight hug, "What's up dude?!"

"Nothing much. Good to have you ba-"

"Oh, I know you've missed me," Prussia claimed with a sorrowful expression on his face, "I can't imagine the kinds of horrifically unawesome things you've done without my influence."

"Mon petit has been very excited to come by," the duo heard echoing down the staircase until France appeared in view with an Englishman trailing grumpily behind him, "but not nearly so much as I!"

With that, France threw himself onto Prussia in a passionate hug. He cried in a dramatic reenactment of his days without his "dearest friend and lover", and then kissed him dead on the lips just as Italy made his way down the steps. This lead to Italy also wanting to kiss Prussia, Germany becoming rather stressed, and Prussia giggling in response to his sexual assault.

Before long, the entire world had begun to trickle in.

There were some people, like America, who were just endlessly happy to see him, and the feeling was mutual. Denmark insisted on telling him that, over and over again, and each time Prussia would say, "thank you! It's good to be back!" and his smile would reach his eyes. Japan was his usual self, entering with a deep bow and general indifference past that, except that he sort of smiled once, and didn't seem 100% uncomfortable when he was hugged. Maybe more like 75%.

Some nations chose to come with gifts. Hungary had forced Austria to carry in a microwave while she had the mini-fridge, as she was certain Prussia would enjoy being able to eat whenever he wanted. Lichtenstein had come in with a set of ballpoint and fountain pens in an array of colors, with each one tied in ribbon. Switzerland, upon being looked at after this, claimed his presence was gift enough. Prussia agreed. China - who was not really invited, but came along with all of Asia anyways - had prepared a very large pot of food no one bothered to question, and ate to the last grain of rice.

While the Prussian was more than willing to talk, for some people, Germany became a liaison for conversation. He and Austria spent the entire time huddled in a corner watching Hungary and Prussia with sharp eyes. Spain came in and awkwardly asked Germany questions he didn't know the answer to, such as "is he mad at me?", "what should I say to him?" and the often repeated, "has he said anything about me?".

This is until Germany grew annoyed with it and loudly announced, "Spain's here!". The Spaniard jumped at the sudden hollering of his name, and once Prussia spotted him he seemed ready to flee. However, within minutes, France, Prussia, Spain, and Scotland were playing tag with Sealand (who was later chastised by his adoptive parents).

Romano came in being a real hard-ass about things, but claimed that since he had _Amor en la Ciudad_ on DVD, Prussia would _have_ to come to his house to continue watching it. He was the only one of all Prussia's guests who didn't receive a hug, because he threatened violence if such a thing were to befall him. Prussia settled for grinning in his direction every couple seconds like a schoolboy in love. The other found it rather irritating.

The entire time, that broad smile never left his lips. He was happy when Romano cursed at him in a mixture of five languages, he was happy when Belarus didn't see him, sat on him, and then refused to move, he was happy when Latvia giggled at Belgium's joke and then repeated it to Prussia as if he somehow hadn't heard it, and he was happy when nothing was happening at all.

He looked around the small space of his little party – the place that he would be able to call home for a little while. After all, Russia was probably right. He was nothing without the man's protection.

"Hello, Prussia. I've been here an hour already and I haven't even spoken to the guest of honor." It was Cameroon. He sat down beside Prussia and offered a bit of a grin. "How are you enjoying being back?"

"Very well."

"And what's the plan now?" the man asked, his black eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Enjoy the time I have left."

Cameroon took a moment to sit with that, before his eyebrow raised in confusion. "Time left of the party? Germany said on the invites it could go all night, but he'll probably kick us out at some point."

The deep, dark skin of his people combined with broad shoulders, a wide chest, a deep voice, and a certain air of authority in his gaze. The triangular patch of "Africa in Miniature" near the Gaul of Guinea had personified into such a powerful and intelligent man – characteristics Prussia wasn't quite sure he himself possessed anymore.

"Yea," he looked away from his past and back into his small celebration in his small space, "the party."

* * *

"Let's cut the cake!" Prussia announced with giddy yell. It was about 5:30p.m. by then, and while most nations planned on staying all night anyways, the food was getting a little stale and soon they'd have to take to a bar or restaurant to continue festivities.

"Right then," Germany said, walking up to the table. And then he remembered the one thing he forgot. A knife. With an "I'll be right back," the man bound up the stairs to his kitchen to retrieve it.

It should've been in the third drawer from the stove, but it wasn't. A plethora of knives were there: some smooth, several serrated, two butcher knives, a peeler, but no triangular cake-cutter. Perhaps he'd put it in the second drawer with the spatulas, but it wasn't in there either. Just red and yellow silicone.

The man sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Here he was searching frantically for a plastic triangle when he had work to do. He still had a report to file, and a survey to instruct the union to conduct. He had to find someone to clean the rubble from the wall, and…and now that they were unified…he had to figure out what Prussia was.

Why he was still…

Maybe he'd washed the cake cutter in preparation. He glanced in the utensil bin and - nothing. Why couldn't he recall where he'd put the darned thing?!

A shrill ringing and strong vibration in his back pocket jolted him from his thoughts.

"Hallo," he sternly said into the receiver. His boss was on the other line. Seeing the name on the caller I.D. had confused him for just a moment. His mind went back to his "decade off".

It was a saying of nations that when their land was in a time of peace and prosperity, and the nation personification didn't really have much to do, that they were in a decade off. The decade off didn't always last a decade, but regardless they filled this time partaking in human activities.

America had a law degree from the 20's, during his Enlightenment France opened an art gallery, and in his "decade off" Germany had taken up work as an accountant. It was an oddly entertaining time, being a small man who was irrelevant amongst many others, doing small things for the few. He typed numbers into machines and that would either make clients happy or his bank happy, and that was all he was responsible for.

No wars, no famine, no genocide, no pollution, just numbers and a cubicle he'd decorated with a mug reading "World's Best Dad", a photo of the wife and two daughters he'd pretended to have, and a stack of books having nothing to do with military tactics. At that time he'd inputted his boss' name into his phone simply as "Boss", and for some reason, seeing that name again in the device made him wonder where his excel sheets were.

"Yes sir, I actually already emailed that to you yesterday," he replied into the phone with a rhythmic consistency.

There was just something fun about being human for a while. Something about it that made everything easier. Judging by some literature he'd had time to read, humans seemed to think they envied a life of immortality. They believed it would be better for them. An intelligent few had delved into this issue in a more realistic way though.

If things never ended, there would be no point to doing anything. If you had all the time in the world, why not sleep and go to school tomorrow? Or perhaps society would continue on as it were and people would be forever stuck in an endless life of miserable labor.

Or maybe there would be no time to throw a little gathering for your "brother" because he wasn't your brother. He was nothing more than the physical interpretation of an idea. He and you and all your friends are nothing more than dirt, and the people on said dirt, and the government established over said dirt, and the sovereignty of the people who established this government in the containment field of their conquered dirt.

Prussia was really just land, but as soil with a specified guideline around it he had to do so much. There were millions of people who would die if he was unsuccessful, they would be unhappy or impoverished if he failed, he along with them would be subdued and forced into a life of fear if the government triumphed too far over his head. He had no time to work for a little sinecure crunching numbers in a box-shaped office. He was some _very important_ land.

Or was he? Now one couldn't be sure if he _was_ some very important dirt, or if he still is. Was his relevance fading or had it cemented itself in some new way yet again? Was that even possible?

"Alright, I will get that right to you." He'd said it into the device with the same aggressive tone he'd liked to give his new bosses, but his face had become solemn. Why did he have to be Germany all the time? Why couldn't he step away for a moment and be Ludwig? Why was his other _name_ , the only thing other than his appearance that made him even just a little bit human, nothing more than an alias?

"Thank you. Goodbye." Germany hung up the phone, and then he decided to become Ludwig.

It didn't matter who his "brother" was, and he wasn't about to put quotes around brother anymore either! Gilbert was his brother. His human brother. His human brother who had a wife with short hair and a son who came out blonde, and Ludwig was a human man who had a wife with long hair and a daughter who came out with a streak of silver.

His daughter was excited when the streak grew in and had told her father she was "transforming into uncle Gil!" They joked often about trading kids, and their wives were friends, which sort of scared them. However, when their families were away they'd throw little get-togethers like this and just relax. They could relax and stop worrying. Stop thinking. Stop wondering.

And they could remember that they'd put the cake cutter on the drying rack over the fridge.

He grabbed the dastardly thing and rushed back into the basement where he was welcomed rather pleasantly.

"Oh, he's back!" Francis announced, his eyes a little wide, as if fearful.

"Yes," Kiku cooed, resting a hand on Gilbert's back as he spoke, "we can cut the cake now."

With a wild grin, Ludwig handed over the cake cutter and watched his one and only brother stand from his chair, turn around, and slice a thick triangle into the bottom tier of vanilla. Rodrich gave Ludwig a bit of an odd look, but it was brushed away when Elizabetha handed him a plate.

Gilbert then reached to hand Ludwig a cake with a second-tier slice of chocolate on it.

"Danke, bruder," Ludwig responded, and Gilbert followed close to sit next to him on the couch.

* * *

 _"This is gonna be good,"_ Prussia thought in anticipation for his cake. He watched his brother shuffle around the base of the cake table before announcing that he needed to go get a cutter. He knew each level of the cake was a different flavor, and he was most excited for the triple chocolate middle portion with moist chocolate cake, Belgian dark chocolate to make the frosting, and chocolate chips and sprinkles baked in.

Germany had made it, so that meant, of course, it would be delicious. Prussia watched his brother walk off, and up the steps, and after the fourth step he turned to continue up.

And then he was gone.

Germany was gone, out of view, vanished.

Where had he gone to?

"Prussia-kun?" Japan asked, his brows furrowed.

Prussia stalked his head around the room. There were faces, lots of them, but none were right. None of them where of heads taller than his with the hair brushed back and eyes an icy blue. None of them were right.

"Prussia-kun?"

"Where's Germany?"

"He-" Japan seemed surprised, "he just went upstairs."

Upstairs. Out of the basement. Out of the cellar and he was gone forever. What was happening to him up there?

"Prussia-kun. Are you alright? You're looking paler than usual."

Prussia was startled to find he was moving. Chains in the shape of Japan's hands forced him onto his cot. Austria looked over him. _"Austria, run!"_ he wanted to say but his lips refused to move.

"What's wrong with mon ami?" he heard a voice a million miles away ask. The plush carpet beneath his feet morphed itself into a cold, cracked, cemented basement floor. There were sounds but they were all too muffed and muddled to hear from behind the iron door. The chains pushed him back again.

"Prussia-kun, say something."

Speak? He couldn't. Not when he could hear the steps. The thick, spiky snow boots stomping down the staircase to destroy him. He knew it was fake, it all had to be. It was a rather elaborate trick, but of course it was a trick. Why would Germany be back? Why would they get a chance to be together? Why would Russia let him go?

A raspy gasp escaped his lips as the steps got closer to the bottom of the staircase. He glanced up to see "Welcome Home" scrawled atop his head.

Home.

Why did it say that?

It seemed such a far away and foggy word, almost incomprehensible. He should've known he no longer had such a place allotted to him.

"He might start hyperventilating," Austria said to the small group of onlookers, "give him some space."

Following the command Austria, Hungary, France, and Japan all took a step or two away from Prussia's frame. Everyone else at the party seemed too distracted with food, games, talk, or the spectacle that was drunk-England to notice anything.

"Prussia? Prussia. You need to calm down. Deep breaths," Austria tried, before adding, "He's not hearing me." The Prussian appeared to have shut down entirely, eyes dull, and his whole body unmoving.

"Prussia," Hungary said, kneeling before him, and he looked at her wide eyed.

What was she doing down here? If Russia caught her he'd bludgeon her to death!

"Go!" he whispered.

"Go?" Hungary furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Oh, he's back!" France announced, his eyes a little wide with shock. France as a nation didn't like to think of the humans as entirely fragile, just inexperienced. Even with them and their lack of experience with the horrors of the world, it was hard to find something that would break a person's resolve.

Countless numbers of their friends would fall, they could hold bleeding carcasses or still beating hearts in their hands, and somehow, they'd fight on. It had to be either time to let everything sink in, or something particularly terrible to make a human lose it. So, to see a _nation_ react like this wasn't unheard of, but still startling never the less. And react to what exactly? What was living with Russia like?

"Yes," Japan cooed, resting a hand on Gilbert's back as he spoke, rubbing small circles into it in hopes of calming the man "we can cut the cake now." Was that what Prussia wanted? To cut the cake? No, he must have wanted Germany back. He only started to panic once the man had left.

He was a cold, shaking, sniveling, pathetic little mess chained to that basement cot. Prussia wondered with growing anxiety why Russia didn't just kill him. Kill his brother. Kill their people. What was the point of this separation anymore? It was too painful. He'd rather just-

A plastic cake cutter was placed into his hand. Prussia looked up and his blacked-out vision cleared, to show his brother grinning at him. He was to cut a cake.

He stood, turned towards the tower of sugar, and pressed down onto it, watching the frosting split about the knife. This cake was commemorating his "Welcome Home".

Home.

It seemed such a far away and foggy word.

He couldn't signify an exact location that was his home anymore, but more the feeling of what being home was. It was something like this; a smile in his brother's face with all his friends and family around to welcome him.

 _"This cake is going to be really good!"_ He thought.

Austria glanced at Germany, but not long after, his ex-wife shoved a plate in his face. _"Later,"_ her eyes said. She was happy she was blessed with only Austria knowing the intricacies of the struggles she was having. When she'd had a bit of an episode in front of Lichtenstein and Switzerland, she wanted to die once it was over.

Hungary took a glance in the siblings' direction. What had they thought of her? Surely that she was pitiful to be so out of control of her emotions after just a couple decades of misfortune. She should've been able to withstand more. Especially considering that treatment like that had essentially become the Baltics' entire life. She wished she was stronger, and she was sure that soon Prussia would wish he was stronger too. No use further embarrassing him _right then_.

The last person to get a slice of cake was Germany himself. After handing it to him, Prussia grabbed his own plate and went to sit with his brother, and he grew excited for the taste of the melty chocolate chips.

"Is it good?" the German man asked after he'd seen his sibling take a bite.

"Yes," Prussia said, admiring the flecks of golden confetti on his floor. If he could just be allowed to stay here, just for a little while longer before he had to go, then it would all be, "perfect."

* * *

 **I HAVE AN ETSY - even if you're not going to buy anything, would you have a look? kaygeecreative**. - Okay, sorry for the shameless (shameful) self promotion.

How was the ending? I rushed it. In all honesty I am SO SAD I DON'T GET TO WRITE MORE OFTEN! *sobs*. This story has made it up to 50 reviews, which I thought would mean I did something celebratory! I know on youtube at big view counts they do Q&A videos, or give aways.

I have no money. I cannot give you anything but a story. And I would LOVE to do a Q&A, but as I thought about it I realized you all probably don't come here for me and my page long author's notes. I mean some of you read them, and you are blessed angels, but that's not the main reason. You're here to watch Prussia fall apart. So, with that being said…

 **Thank you all so much for 50 reviews. If I get to 100 reviews before the end of this story, I will commit to a posting schedule** (say a chapter every two weeks or something), but regardless of that, I greatly appreciate all the time and care you guys have put into typing your reviews. It's not only helpful critique, but it makes me extremely happy to see that you like what I write.

So, **as a thanks for giving me 50 lovely reviews I promise I will post AT LEAST once every 2 months.** I know it's not a very big commitment, but having just started college **it's all I can manage**. You all came here for the story, so as thanks for reading it, I promise more story. I like writing, so despite my time constraints I feel I should commit even more of myself to it anyways. So there you go.

Now, let's do what I usually do in an author's note and talk about this chapter. I actually don't have much to say. Just that one review that I saw that had me a little bent out of shape said my depiction of Romano is OOC. This isn't false at all, but when I go OOC, I try to keep it as on character as possible.

By this I mean, let's say I needed Japan, the stiffest and most emotionless board of them all, to cry. Well, first he'd need a lot of stress. A lot of time stuck with his emotions. And then, he wouldn't burst into sudden sobs. He'd cry maybe like one or two tears, preferably in private, and then respond by being very ashamed of himself. It seems Japan-esc to me while still allowing him to follow my plot and cry.

So here, in this story, I have concepts that are certainly not touched on in the anime or webcomic. As Japan never (seriously) cries, the characters have also never suffered (visibly) from PTSD. However here I am trying to work that into my story. I struggle to make all of my characters seem authentic, while still being able to slip out of the lines of how they usually seem, and be a little daring. So, I hope that here I sort of…corrected my overly-loving Romano while still making him friendly, and found a way to play down while playing up the PTSD in Prussia and Hungary.

They are both still fine, they can both still live their lives, but they struggle in their own respects. Prussia (As alluded here but will be further elaborated on later if it isn't clear) doesn't even remember these moments, and Hungary is ashamed of them. This…this is something they'd do? Right? All I'm trying to say is, **I hope my choices with the events in this story don't make everyone seem so OOC that it ruins your reading experience.**

That's pretty much all I wanted to talk about. **Thank you for your abundant patience** on this chapter and **THANK YOU FOR 50 REVIEWS YOU LOVELY PUMPINKS YOU! What are your Halloween plans?** Mine are to miraculously make college friends and miraculously finish all my work so I miraculously have time to buy or make a costume and look sexy but not slutty and go to a party and miraculously have fun even tho all I've done so far is struggle alone. 😊 wish me luck.


	17. Awkward - An Author's Experiement

I do not know what I want to do with this story. In the months I've been gone I've been writing, but nothing is sticking. I've gained and lost motivation, loved and hated ideas, and just been afraid. I want to do something a little rash, and a little different. It's 2am five days after I had to break up with my boyfriend and two days after I find out yet another of my relatives is having (possibly) fatal health problems, perfect time to slap this together and make a "decision".

I'm writing this story because I like to write, and while the format I've had has worked chapter after chapter, for this one, it's just not going to work. I want to spend some time focusing on Prussia's mind and no one else. I just don't feel like writing about anyone else! So, I won't force myself to. I think if I free myself up a bit more I can get this chapter written.

Everything going on in my personal life is really keeping me from finishing my usual 5000-7000 word long chapter, so, this chapter is cut EXTREMELY short. My next chapter (to be uploaded Saturday February 3rd unless there are some extraneous circumstances) will also be short, just FYI. They're an experiment for me. Because I love what I have written by now but just CAN'T for the life of me make it fit into my 3 or 4 part, character-swapping format that I have going now. So, I hope that you will all accept this deviation from the norm for what it is.

* * *

 _ **These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal - Chapter 16 - Awkward**_

* * *

"You won't lose track of me. You will all know exactly where I'm going, how long I'll be there, and when I will return" Germany insisted. He could feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket, and reached to grab it.

"Not lose track of you," America started, swishing his pursed lips from side to side in thought, "lose track of…your mindset." He looked at his companion and offered a light grin. Germany did not grin back. Nor did he pause the conversation to answer his phone.

"My mindset. By that you mean-"

"We just don't want you to fly off the handles again, dude. Got to keep things kosher."

The German began to wonder if it was fair for him to feel insulted. They sat side by side, America driving and Germany trying to find something he could resonate with in the side of the other man's face. There was nothing but a smile, twinkle in the eyes, and general radiance that gave no sense of understanding of the weight of their conversation.

"I will be fine."

"Listen dude, I just doubt anyone will agree with this. You gotta know how it sounds," he turned towards his German companion with the car sat at a red light. "You want to go to visit Japan completely unsupervised? And you have no other purpose for seeing him, just, to see him? It's still way too soon."

"I'm not there just to see him, I have purpose."

America raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Which is?"

"I need to ask him some things."

"About?"

"The past."

The driver turned his head back to the road just as the light flashed green with a chuckle and a notion on how 'the past' was rather vague. What he failed to understand was that it had to be vague. Not everyone in the world deserved to know what was happening to Prussia; this was assuming Japan even knew.

"Japan has lived a very long time, thousands of years, and he's seen many things in this world that we haven't," Germany began, seeing the fault in his explanation as he said it, "I need to discuss matters I don't understand with him."

"China's older," America commented, unfortunately also finding that fault, "he'd probably know too, so ask him instead." They fell into silence as Germany again studied the side of that face. The man really was his nation. He had the sunbaked skin of a Californian who could be caught rolling in the wet sand of his hair. Stretching from coast to coast was a lovely, radiant blue sky that reflected in his eyes. And his smile, the American smile, gleamed with a childlike joy.

"I don't know China very well."

The childlike joy shined brighter as America chuckled. "He's a cool dude. Makes good food, and he'll totally sit down and talk with you if you ask."

"Japan already understands my situation," At his phone beginning to vibrate for a second time, Germany adjusted in his seat to grab it, "and-"

"Just explain this situation to China."

Prussia was on the caller ID. "Things would be easiest for everyone if-"

"Things can't always be easy, man." At that statement, America took a left turn. Germany decided to get back to his brother later. He was always calling with nothing at the worst of times.

"It'd actually be best if you stuck around," America continued; the car was filled with that joyful radiance, "because we still have to meet with our bosses, and sort out the accords, and all types of stuff."

"I understand that, but-"

"We really can't justify you leaving right now when things are so busy." The American flipped his hair, and for Germany it was like watching sand blowing up into his eyes with no time to react and do a thing about it.

"I can work from Japa-"

"And there's no reason for us to send you to the enemy when you could ask China."

"Well 'the _enemy_ ' is a little-"

"And don't you care about your country?"

The blasted phone went off again, and Germany slammed it on the dashboard after pressing 'end call'. "I beg your pardon? Of course I-"

"It's not going to ever get sorted out if you keep running around like this, man. I know things have been a little weird because of the separations, and the war criminals, and the wall and, Russia in general (I do not like that guy), and Prussia and all his…"

The joy in that stubborn smile barely faltered, but for just a moment, the skies in America grew slightly dimmer. "You know…like…stuff," America concluded with a sigh before the peaks of his sun kissed cheeks rose in a refreshed smile, "but we really need you around right now Germany. Okay?"

America was his land, and he was his people. He looked a child, and a surfer, and a father in suburbia, and the countryside, and a skier all at once. But most of all, he looked like the beach.

Germany, as a land-locked country, didn't much understand the beach.

"Okay."

* * *

It was really rather annoying to attend his therapy sessions with Mila. She was just a human – just a fragile creature in her 40's with a piece of paper from a school verifying that she was supposed to do this. But how could someone with just 40 years of linear experience understand the life of a 1600 year-old artifact?

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," she had said one day before beginning to explain it, as if Prussia didn't already know what it meant. How absurd of her to claim he had a _disorder_. Nations could barely have _scratches_ , but with that being said, he wasn't much of a nation anymore, now was he?

She claimed he had made a quick progress in handling his "insomnia" and supposed "issues with isolation".

"But," she said, after he had proudly told her that his awesomeness himself had gone three weeks without 'an episode,' and deserved to finally be rid of her, "you're still upset. If you won't open up to me, I hope you will at least open up to yourself."

That didn't make any sense. As if he could he open up, and look inside his own body.

"Let's try an exercise, Mr. Beilschmidt."

Oh, to Hell with her exercises.

"The next time you're feeling upset, why don't you sit down in front of a mirror and ask yourself what's really upset you."

The exercise was complete and utter nonsense he was sure, but Mila had assigned it a week ago and he still hadn't done it. They had another cursed meeting soon, and she would ask for his progress. So, Prussia sat himself on his bed, across from a large mirror he had set up atop a dresser, and he looked at himself.

He was nothing. Nothing like what he remembered. He was getting bigger, but he wasn't as strong as he should've been. His skin was livening up a little, but he wasn't quite so bright anymore; he swore his hair had gone from silver to a dulling grey. When he looked in the mirror he barely saw Prussia, just that man's shadow.

"I'm scared," he whispered to Prussia's shadow. He watched the man in the mirror's voice crack as those words snuck their way out of captivity. In that man, pools of tears collected in the brim of his eyes.

"I don't want to die," the man said. His lip quivered. Prussia moved to lay on his back, eyes averted from the remnants of the man he used to be.

"but…I… I don't much see a reason for me to go on," some ghost's voice resounded into the walls.

He knew it in his heart and mind, but the shock of admitting it to his speckled ceiling drove a chill down his spine. He didn't have his people or his land or his pride or his strength or even his sovereignty anymore. There was no reason for the walking husk to march on, or for it to wipe its face of hot, wet tears.

He curled up into a ball on his side and let out a slow, steady breath. With it the drops multiplied, and Prussia wondered what kind of "nation" would cry this often.

But, it felt _good_.

It honestly felt amazing to be relieved of emotion. Not running from it, or evading it, or being forced into it in uncomfortable fear and pain. Not to be hiding under a thin, fragile veil of sanity; but to let himself run loose without anyone but himself making him do it.

The pain escaped his eyes in tears and his nose in sniffs, all in a race to expel from his insides. It slipped out of his body in shakes, and finally slid off his back as goosebumps.

He was smiling, and then he was laughing to himself, but he had to raise his hands to his forehead to keep it from bursting. He'd forgotten how much crying like this hurt his throat, especially in his struggle to stay quiet, only letting bits of anguish escape in his gasps. He was depressed and drawn to his end and confused and alone and sacred – just as much so has he was yesterday – but somehow this was good today. Somehow it was making him happy.

He stilled his body and the tears stopped flowing, but he wasn't content with things just yet.

"I no longer serve any purpose, and my prolonged existence isn't fair to Vati, who died immediately."

A bit of a stinging behind the eyes.

"And bruder…"

Oh God.

"He's a grown man, and wildly prosperous nation. He…," Prussia felt his heart drop into its familiar put of despair.

"…doesn't need me anymore."

His eyes, his nose, his entire body burned as the embers of a fire within him. His brother barely spoke to him anymore, relaxed with him, hell now-a-days he was too busy to even take the others' calls.

"Or even want me around."

And with one last crack of that flame, the misery was moving again to some new, unfortunate home, and his lip was quivering as tears fell now straight from the lashes to his shirt, missing the race down the face entirely. He hid his shame in the crook of his arm and felt the wetness pool there as his heart raced.

His soul hid in the joys of his misery, skipping from a dark disposition into a dilapidated psyche. And there was a relief filled weightlessness beneath the bounds of his abundant burden. Carefully trickling out and into the last cracks and divots in his resolve, the tears slowed.

And as the downpour ended, Prussia almost longed to cry more.

In the bathroom - where he would first wipe his face, and then shower, and feel the warm water trickle down his skin, and perhaps let it lead him to cry another blissful stream– he saw his face and immediately laughed. Every inch on the curve of his cheeks shining with moisture, dribbles of wetness still visible under the eyes and a pool grasping at his chin for dear life.

He laughed at the ridiculousness of his appearance, with even his eyelashes wet in silly clumps of matted silver, and made a towel meet his face. He dried the tears, rinsed in the sink, dried again, and smiled, as he looked a little less ridiculous.

His cheeks were a rosy pink, and his eyes were still crimson in places they normally weren't, but he looked calmer. He thought he appeared to have sobbed bitterly for hours, but then the unusual pink flecks in his eyes made him think of citrus, floating daises, and the soothing scent of… perhaps lavender or jasmine.

He left the mirror and headed towards the shower. A soothing stream of warm water pelted his back.

Mila would hear nothing of this.

* * *

"Hallo Bruder," Prussia said as the other walked in.

"Prussia."

"I called you earlier."

"I know," Germany said. Prussia blew lightly on the liquid in his spoon. "I couldn't answer. I was rather busy with other matters."

"What matters?"

"Just things."

"Okay," the other stated with a slow, rhythmic nod, "With?" Warm porridge slid down Prussia's throat.

"Not important."

"It is important. Because you care, so I should want to too-"

"I was talking with America about some things, Prussia." There was a certain indignation in his voice.

Prussia stirred his spoon once, twice, three times in the frumenty. "You won't tell me what these things are?"

Germany responded at first with silence, then, "don't worry yourself." Prussia blew a splattering of his nutrients onto the table.

"What else did you do today?"

"Nothing." A wet cloth smeared white about the table.

"At all?"

"Why did you call me anyways?"

Prussia responded at first with silence, stirring his spoon once, twice, three times in the gruel. Then, "don't worry yourself, Germany. Just wanted to talk about…" there was a clear tone about his voice, as if implying indignation, "some things."

"Okay," The younger said with a slow, measured nod. Prussia blew gently on a portion of his meal seated in his spoon.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Bruder," Prussia said as the other stormed out.

"Prussia."

The porridge was cold.

* * *

I was very inspired by poetry. You can see it even more in next week's section, I think. I might even be writing a poem there. Poetry has just been capturing my interest entirely – it's all the fun of a book what with hidden meanings and metaphors and symbolism – just much shorter. The writer has the challenge too of incorporating alliteration, rhyme, or (as used here) parallelism and repetition wherever appropriate. All while setting a tone and mood. As trash as I am at reading poetry, once I actually get to understand it, I really love some of what it does!

So yes, I know this chapter is short. I know it's a bit different. I know it doesn't much make sense in time because of the placement of the second section – but this mess was what I wanted to submit. Call it an experiment. I just can't make myself make anything different because I'm just not feeling it. You've all waited well into long enough, so, I hope that was somewhat enjoyable.

 **PLEASE REVIEW** – How do you feel about this? Both this section and me experimenting in general. If I were to write original works as well (poetry, short stories, a long novella situation like this…) instead of fanfiction and post to tumblr or wattpad or wordpress, would you all read them? Am I a freak? **LET ME KNOW IN YOUR REVIEW!** 😊

 **SEE YOU ALL IN A WEEK** – for real this time.


	18. Rain Drops - More Experimention

**_These Wounds Won't Seem to Heal - Chapter 17 - Rain Drops_**

* * *

 ** _Drip_**

There was water slipping from the tip of a Birchwood branch, into the pond it hung over.

 ** _Drip_**

Each drop colliding with the water right near a Prussian man's ear.

 ** _Drip_**

He closed his eyes, and in the darkness a gentle drip became a splash.

 _It was a little boy, hair yellow and unkept, eyes that could pierce the heart like icicles, and a his lips poised into a stern, unentertained line as he splashed his bare feet about a muddy puddle. It was the first time that Prussia had felt good about having dominion over Germany. He watched the boy - who had previously been quiet, detached, and perhaps a little scared – play around in the yard._

 _He wasn't happy to see his bruder simply for the fact that he got to be an elder to him; it was the way the boy pretended to not be interested in a butterfly he stared at for thirty minutes that made Prussia pleased to call him a little sibling. He wasn't happy to be leading a new nation just because it meant Austria didn't get to do it, he just wanted to see what this child could become._

 _Germany touched his head, and seemed displeased with the mud now in his hair. He tried using his hand to clean it, but once he realized this would only make the problem worse, he looked at Prussia. To any outsider he would just look like a stoic, dirty, little boy staring without reason at an adult. To Prussia, his brother, who was happy to finally be getting to understand him, he looked affronted with a problem he couldn't fix on his own, and thus, he looked about ready to cry._

 _Prussia stood, walked over to, and scooped up the little nation. He wondered what the child and his people would develop into as he carried the little one closer to the stream. Instead of just cleaning the boy's hair, Prussia showed his brother how to clean his hands in the stream, and how to use his clean hands to clean his hair himself. The boy seemed endlessly pleased to have done it "on his own", and Prussia grinned as he ran off only to stop after a few steps, and watch a bug crawl up a tree._

 _Prussia recalled when he and France were that small, and how powerful they had all become since then. Would the boy follow in their footsteps? He tried to imagine Vati being small and muddy._

 _"Don't screw this up," was the last thing he got to hear from his Germanic family members before Germany was handed over. He wouldn't. He couldn't screw this up – not after everyone that had gone into the creation of this boy. His brother would prosper._

 ** _Drip_**

 ** _Drip_**

Prussia opened his eyes and looked up into the endless sky of perfect blue. It looked as though he could raise his arm and let his fingers caress the cushioned cotton of the clouds. He rolled over in the foliage, and came face to face with a frail flower.

He plucked it.

 ** _Drip_**

It had shining, grey petals, that almost looked silver under the drops of dew. Its pollinated center was a red-orange color, and it was small and cute. The length of its stem almost made it look even smaller.

 ** _Drip_**

Prussia realized as the little flower spun between his fingertips that he had killed it. It wasn't dead yet, but its fate was sealed. What was to happen, would happen. Could the flower feel that its roots were gone, or had that not yet dawned on it? Would a new flower sprout from the root while this one decaying and fertilize it?

Was the flower scared?

He set it back in the grass and enjoyed the feeling of each cool blade of green brushing on his skin. It was a part of the circle of life. And death.

 ** _Drip_**

Mortality was not something Prussia ever saw himself having to think about. It was so easy to think himself invincible when he watched millions of people die around him as he marched on effortlessly. It wasn't that the nations didn't age, it was that they aged slowly. It wasn't that the nations didn't die, it was that they died after living many human lives over. Most of them didn't like to think about this, or even realize it, until they were at the end themselves.

 ** _Drip_**

Humans these days don't tend to know much of the past. Most of them don't know there was such a great difference between Ancient Egypt and Egypt, or between Romans who wore drapery and Romans who wear jeans. They maybe knew of Britannia's existence because of a similarly named dictionary, or they could still see Scandinavia's influence, but did they know of Germania?

He was such a great man, and nation, and father with a beautiful sovereignty. Prussia knew he, as the man's son, was lucky.

 ** _Drip_**

He wondered again what that little flower would fertilize. How would it make itself useful in repose?

 ** _Drip_**

The man closed his eyes with nothing but the sound of wind winding down a hill, and birds chirping gently some distance away.

He let himself drift into sleep.

* * *

Welcome to Sunny uploads weeks late because she forgot!

Now, why is this chapter so short? Because I kind of like this bit standing alone. And because I have had to do a lot of essays lately, and that made me not want to add on to this.

I don't know where I'm going next, but it will (hopefully) return to my format of long chapters. I took some time to dabble in poetry (and created a tumblr! intense! kaygee-writes ) and am feelign my creative juices are ready to flow again! So, sooner rather than later I hope, we will contine this story. I've realized i've been writing it for over two years now, and it's drawing towards it's close. This has been a wild ride. I'm not sure how many more chapters are left to come, but thank you all for your patience, and for growing with me through this story. Hope you enjoyed this SHORT snippet of a chapter. Happy late Valentine's day!


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